


Never Ending

by SuperWhovinator



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Badass everyone eventually, Croatoan isn't linked with Lucifer, Croatoans, Hurt/Comfort, If more graphic it'll be tagged, M/M, Multi, Omega Castiel, Slow Build, Some Cas whump, Work In Progress, Zombie-like Apocalypse, humans-to-a/b/o, like extreme slow build, non-con elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:18:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 151,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhovinator/pseuds/SuperWhovinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The violent and mysterious Croatoan virus is wrecking absolute havoc across the lands. Life has become a day-to-day battle and with Omega's suddenly becoming more and more rare, humanity struggles to find a way to continue on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> What better way to start off 2014, then with a good ole' Croatoan AU?

 

 

It was never ending. No matter how long he ran and ran and ran, the only thing left remaining was to run some more. His body was operating solely on autopilot now. At some point in the past few [Hours? Minutes? Days? Weeks?] He must have made the unconscious decision to switch over. He barely felt it as one foot fell in front of the other. He didn’t think about it as he made a sharp, right pivot to avoid the oncoming wall of angry flesh. His chest no longer stung with every heaving intake of cold air. He just had to keep going. Keep going. Can’t stop. Keep going.

Somewhere in the back recesses of his mind, the echoes of footfalls on the damp pavement registered. One pair. Three pairs. Five pairs. He lost count as the sound began to reverberate off the walls of the alleyway, echoing louder and louder until he could no longer tell if he was being chased by the few or by the hundreds.  
The end of the current path was quickly approaching, a giant wall of brick and stone beginning to loom above him. He spotted the small opening sitting to the right up ahead in the wall; a smaller, narrower, passageway. The decision to dive through it was made in between heartbeats.

While the sudden turn may have slightly halted those who followed behind him, it only encouraged those who lay ahead into action. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. He picked up speed, managing to dash past those nearest before they had even acknowledged his presence. It was the few farthest up ahead that were the main obstacle. It felt like he was watching his own life play out through somebody else’s eyes. He recognized from a distance within his own mind as they turned their heads toward him, stumbling over themselves with how quickly they moved to stand up. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew his grip on the machete tightened as he continued on without pause. Two on the right and one on the left, approaching with barely any space between them in the narrow passage. One more stood farther up ahead, coming from near the mouth of the alley. He didn’t count how many were approaching from behind. He had passed them. They no longer mattered. They no longer existed.

His actions came before his brain even attempted to gather any thought process. Darting to the left, he dodged the small glass shard that was swung in his direction and swiftly plunged his weapon up through the soft flesh of the under chin. Using the momentum of the stabbing, he turned his victim’s body towards the right and shoved him harshly into the two remaining attackers that were crowding him. There was no time to finish them, he couldn’t even wait to see if he had successfully knocked them down, he yanked his weapon out as the body fell backwards and shoved himself through the small opening he’d created and bolted.  
The opening was just up ahead. He just had to bypass the remaining one and reach the end of the alley. That was how his entire day had been spent, striving for one small goal after another. Just reach that car. Just make it to that building. Just don’t die on this street corner.

His attacker never slowed, just as he was never fazed by her approach. Luckily, his machete was longer than her kitchen knife and when they both swung out at each other simultaneously, he barely felt the small knick to his forearm, whereas her arm swung limply, half hanging from her shoulder as the gash was formed. He never stopped moving forward even as her howl of rage echoed behind him.

Finally, he breached the mouth of the alley. Cool air from the open lot hit his face and his eyes were momentarily blurred as they adjusted from the dark alleyways to the cast over open sky above. He didn’t stop. His steps never even faltered. Of course he didn’t stop. Open areas were bad news. He didn’t take in his surroundings; instead he focused his gaze on the street up ahead of him that lead out of the open lot and once again into the city’s maze of urban roads. In his peripheral vision he noticed movement from his right and left, Croats seemingly unmolding themselves from the walls themselves, one was even up ahead in the same road he was heading for, kneeling down in the middle of the street. It didn’t matter. They weren’t upon him. Not yet.

That was when he heard the gun shot.

It rang loud as day, nearly deafening in the aftermath of [hours, days, weeks?] of nothing but footfalls and angry growls. Somehow, it reached inside him and grazed the surface of whatever brain process he still possessed.

He stumbled.

It was as if a hole had been promptly punched through the calm that had claimed his mind. Noise swam up like rolling thunder and struck his eardrums. The sounds of those around him were suddenly alarmingly loud and he twisted around just as somebody snagged the edge of his thin jacket by his left wrist. He yanked his arm out of their grasp and nearly tripped as he lurched backwards and away. There was a small group congregating from all of those he had left in his wake. Those who had originated in the lot were now beginning to move faster into action.

That was when the second shot rang out, and before his eyes the same man who had managed to sneak up and grab him was torn down as the bullet slid through the bottom of his neck. The span of time between the first and second shot was probably only relatively a matter of seconds, but it felt like eons for his brain to catch up with this new turn of events.

Oh no. He turned his head to the left and let the recognition of the group of people wielding guns slide through his brain like water. It didn’t matter. They were just as dangerous. Possibly more. He wasted no time as the group of Croats in front of him began once again to move forward. He turned towards the original direction he was heading and made it a total of six feet before he was forced to once again stop.  
Oh _no._ Oh _no, no, no._ Shit. Shit. _Shit._ His muscles locked up and he had to crouch low as his feet slid uneasily to a stop to keep his balance as an entire _wave_ of Croats spilled out of the other end of the road he was running into. Once again, his actions preceded any thoughts as he apparently changed his mind and bolted straight for the group containing firepower. If this was it, if this was the end, then he’d much rather choose to be gunned down than to be _cut_ down.

Once again all the surrounding noise seemed to dull in his ears as he took up a single-minded mentality; outrun the Croats. Make it to the group of uninfected. Whether he was met with firepower or he was allowed to run straight through didn’t matter, it was the only option left now. Distantly he realized that they were all standing on the opposite side of an open chain-linked gate. It was being held open and two of them waved with exaggerated arms above their heads.

Why? They were attracting even more of the Croats in the clearing towards them. There were a few running ahead of him, heading for the group just like he was, but they were being gunned down as they neared the opening. The gunshots dimly sounded like low drum beats in his ears now, the sound being drowned out by the rushing blood in his head. How long had he been running now? Did it even matter? The time it took to make it across the clearing felt both like years and the blink of an eye at the same time. He was only halfway through the gate when they began shoving it closed from both sides. These people just saved his life. They saved his life and he was grateful. But not grateful enough to stick around. That hadn’t ended so well the last time.

He was planning on running straight on through. Possibly throwing a glance backwards as he was on his way to show his gratitude. Then two men and a woman stepped in front of him and blocked his path. He would have veered right, but a blonde man was there too. For seemingly the hundredth time within ten minutes he was forced to a stop. It was unnerving after the last few hours to suddenly not be in motion. His head swam with the feeling. He turned and was met with more and more faces. This group was much larger than he had originally thought. Now he was met with a tall young man in front of him, hands thrown out in front of his body in caution, and who was inching closer and closer by the second. Several people stood behind him, the circle he suddenly found himself caught in, tightening by several feet every time he turned his head. He slowly raised his machete in warning. He was not going to go down without a fight.

It took way too long to realize that the mumbling washy sounds that were rumbling around him were words. That tall, young man closest to him was speaking to him. He wasn’t making any sense. Why was he murmuring? He couldn’t hear him. It took an unnatural amount of concentration to focus on the quiet words leaving the other mans mouth.

“…Okay. Can you…” The man stepped forwards again and was met with the further raising of his own weapon. Words drifted in and out as the blonde man from before stepped into view and put an arm on the young man’s shoulder, pulling him back. “…if you would just… we can…”

Black spots fell before his eyes and for a moment he thought it was snowing ash. Then the ground before him swayed slightly to the left before he could get his footing under him again. No. This wasn’t happening. This could not be happening right now. He felt himself gasp deeply twice for breath as panic gripped his sides. The blood rushing in his ears grew until it became overwhelming. It took over everything; the feeling of his feet on the ground, his grip on his weapon, it even began to overtake his eyes, as the edges of his vision grew black. Then the ground was rushing up to greet his face.

 

 

 

 

X

“I _told_ you, it’s not working.”

“Yeah, and I _told you_ that I’m going to fix it.”

“Dean, seriously, you’re never going to get it to-”

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean rolled his eyes, and with a bit more force than what was probably considered necessary, yanked a wire out from behind the radio of the jeep. It didn’t really help when a shock ran up to bite at his fingertips. He bit back a yelp and glared when Sam snorted behind him from outside the car. With a huff of frustration, Dean threw the wire back towards the dashboard and climbed back outside. Sam, chuck, and him were on car-guarding duty as the others raided the remains of the convenience store across the street and carried any goods they could find back to the two automobiles. He grabbed his semi-automatic rifle from where it was propped up and retook his position by Chuck.

The mission was moving along efficiently and the store was nearly done being cleared out. Only two Croatoans had been inside when they began the raid and for the most part, everything on this side of the border was going as smoothly as they could only ever hope it to be. It was almost unsettling. Two more Croats had wedged their way out from in between buildings over the past half hour and had easily been taken care of via crossbows. It was easy to spot them on this side of the fence where the buildings were more spaced out and there were fewer shadows to be concealed in.

“Maybe you should leave the tinkering for when we’re back in camp, boys.” Ellen reprimanded with a smirk as she passed between them with a small box full of canned soups.

“Yes, mam.” Dean mock saluted her with his own smirk pulling at his lips. Sam and Ellen both rolled their eyes and she continued on towards the back of the second car.

They stood around in relative silence, staying alert and keeping watch while another cool breeze blew in across the street. Dean shook off a shiver and pulled up the collar of his jacket. It was the beginning of October and already the chilled air was starting to seep into his bones. It was only another short minute later when a loud jingling started up from the fenced border, grabbing a large majority of the mission party’s attention. A large fat man of a Croat stood on the other side, both of his meaty fists wrapped around the chain links and violently set on shoving them back and forth as if he meant to simply force his way through them.

Normally they wouldn’t even bother. If there was a secure border separating them, then there was no need to waste energy unnecessarily. But the noise this one was creating was bound to attract the attention of others, and this close to the city, that was the last thing they wanted to happen. Dean nodded towards Sam and Chuck, who proceeded to move towards the unruly bastard. Dean followed slightly behind, remaining towards the center of where most of the party was transporting supplies back and forth but still in range of his brother and Chuck just in case.

He almost chuckled when he heard Sam quietly mutter “Not it.” And Chuck’s answering groan. With all the same manner of a teenager begrudgingly taking out the garbage, Chuck slid out a small spear-like dagger into his hand and thrust it into the Croat through the fence. It took two stabs, and another annoyed groan from Chuck, before it let go of its hold on the fence and fell away. Dean was already turning back to return to their previous position when he heard Sam ask, “Do you hear that?”

Dean turned back and tilted his head to better hear at the same time as Chuck nodded with a shrug. “Yeah.”

“What?” Apparently, he was standing too far away.

Chuck took a few steps back towards him and mumbled out, “Something’s getting chased down in there.” Sam stayed at the fence line, facing the City. Dean grimaced. He loathed the day that they ran out of stores to raid that sat outside the City limits. Inside was a whole different level of hell, one he did not want to see again soon. The high barrier fences that had been put in place still did their job for the most part, mostly because none of the Croats seemed to have any interest on climbing over unless they were provoked into wanting to.

“That’s sad.” Sam muttered from his spot.

“That’s life.” Dean nearly jumped when Alastair appeared right next to him with a smirk to match his drawl. Dean grimaced again and sidestepped away. Alastair noticed and rolled his head toward, mock pout in place. “Aw, Dean, You’ll hurt my feelings.”

“Dude, you fucking reek.” He hated this annoying beta prick.

Sam turned around with an annoyed glare; “You wouldn’t feel that way if it was some one you cared about in there.” At Alastair’s carefree shrug Sam only grew angrier. Dean inwardly groaned. This wasn’t going to go anywhere pleasant. “And it’s that kind of attitude that keeps getting more and more people killed. Maybe if you would just _care_ a little more-!”

Dean knew where this was going and felt his blood start to simmer before he even heard the retort.

“Are you _still_ going on about that Madison girl?” Alastair licked his lips and exaggeratedly rolled his head in a wide circle before he faced Sam again. “She’s dead. Get over it. The bitch should have ran faster.” He knew this was going to happen. He’d seen it coming since before they were even packing up the cars to head out this morning, he just wished they’d waited to do this until they were back home tonight.

Dean stepped between them before his brother could leap forward, but he couldn’t keep back his own venomous growl of “Shut the fuck up” that escaped. He could not help but slightly bask in the small smug feeling that crept up his spine when Alastair took a step back and reflexively swallowed. At the same time they could hear Ruby call out that this wasn’t “the time or the place.” And she was right. But that didn’t put aside the fact that that was _so freaking_ uncalled for. Madison was still an open wound with Sammy. Both the Winchesters knew though that Dean wasn’t about to let his little brother start a fight with Alastair of all people, especially when they were right dab in the middle of enemy territory. Before Sam could even form a retort, an angry painful yell pierced through the relative silence that had been reigning from just inside the city. There was the first slight shock of it, and then it registered that it sounded pretty Croatoan. And it sounded pretty freaking close. They all turned toward the wide empty parking lot that sat directly in front of them on the other side of the fence.

Dean heard Alastair nearly chuckle out “and another one bites the dust” behind him, and saw Sam clench his fists in front of him. Normally Dean was the one with the short temper but even Sam had his breaking point, and Alastair had been pushing all the right buttons for the past two weeks. Only another short quiet moment passed before chaos broke out.

A man dashed out from the left side of the parking lot, from behind the first set of brick buildings that led into the City. He was quickly followed by two, four, five Croatoans that were trailing pretty closely behind. Croats were fast once they gained momentum. Many who had been nearly passively just existing along the sides of the buildings of the lot a few seconds ago, seemed to come alive with the excitement of a chase on their side of the border.

Dean let out a sympathetic low whistle, his hands gripping the gun in his hands a bit harder as his chest squeezed. There was no way that guy was going to be able to outrun them much longer.

Almost at the same time, Alastair actually _barked_ out a laughing “The poor bastard!” It rang out behind him and Dean once again renewed his hate for the man who continued to mock those caught in these unfortunate, deadly situations.

What Dean was _not_ expecting however, was his little brother to growl out a heated “You know what, fuck you.” Before raising his rifle, quickly taking aim, and firing.

That was when shit began to hit the proverbial fan.

Several shouts came from behind him, expressing their disbelief and anger, Dean watched, muscles locked in a moment of not knowing what to do, as the Croat second closest to the man fumbled as it was hit somewhere around the legs. At the same time he watched in dread as the man himself began to stumble forward and almost fell over before catching himself. It was almost in slow motion that he watched as the closer Croat manage to grab onto the man’s jacket and pull him around, while Dean’s brain instead raced into overdrive.

The worst of it was already done, wasn’t it? One shot fired and the deal is practically sealed. And this man probably could have had a few extra minutes to live, had he not have happened to of crossed this particular lot. Now they had two options; watch him get viciously killed in front of their eyes, or try and save him. There was only a long four-second interval to make the choice before Dean raised his own gun and fired as soon as the man had yanked himself out of the Croat’s reach. There wasn’t enough time to doubt his decision.

Dean looked behind him to shout out a quick “Oh, quit bitching and start moving!”

He knew most of them wouldn’t like the decision. But he also knew they would still follow it. There wasn’t enough time to debate. Amazingly, the words were barely out of his mouth when Jo ran forward with bolt cutters; Ellen wasn’t far behind with an extra chain and lock hanging off her shoulder. He looked past where Chuck was trying to help the women at the fence to see the man running off towards the right side of the lot again. What the hell did that idiot think he was doing?

Here they were, going out of their way to rescue a doomed man, and he was tossing it aside without a second glance? Dean shot the closest Croat approaching the fence as Jo and Chuck grabbed either side of the fence and pulled. A second later the man abruptly skidded to a halt, not even coming to a complete stop before he twisted and full out dive-sprinted towards where Dean and their entire party were standing. ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’

It would have been almost comical how quickly the man seemed to change his mind if it wasn’t for the fact that only a second later an entire fucking hoard of Croatoans spilled out onto the lot behind him. Son of a bitch.

 _This_ is why you never fire a gun when you’re right next to the city! He was so going to kick Sam’s ass after this.

Sam and Joe quit waving their arms once the man was heading back towards them and picked up their weapons. Gordon and Ruby joined Dean as they shot down the Croats that ran ahead of the man, aiming to get past the gate and at them. The brunette man was still a few feet away when Ruby shrieked out “Close it already!”

The man made it through just as the gate slammed closed and Ellen was already clicking a new heavy lock into place, Chuck and Jo still fired a few rounds to lessen the impact of the hoard shoving against the only barrier between them. The man ran up, and fuck him twelve ways to Sunday if he didn’t look like he wasn’t planning on slowing down. Gordon shouted for him to stop and believe it or not, Dean could swear that the man would have legged it right on past them if it wasn’t for Gordon, Alastair, and Ruby physically blocking off his path. He looked in Dean’s direction, eyes searching for a way out before he finally slowed down. No. There was no way this guy was going to walk out of here without even saying a fucking ‘Thank you.’

Sam, Chuck, Ellen, and Joe came up behind him, cutting off his chance at backtracking his ass out of here.

Dean’s sarcastic remark he had reserved for the guy was cut off when Sam stepped forward, hands facing outwards cautiously, and called out a loud, calming “Whoa, whoa, hey, It’s okay. You’re okay.” Dean frowned.

The man looked really shaken up. And Dean wasn’t so certain it was only in the ‘I-was-just-running-for-my-fucking-life’ shaken up. He was panting so harshly it made Dean’s lungs hurt. In fact, the longer Dean took in the appearance of the man they just saved, the more disheveled and distressed he appeared. His eyes were shifting nervously and he was trembling on the spot, his gaze landing on Dean’s brother longer and longer every time he glanced at him. Dean felt his mouth press into a firm line when the man raised his machete threateningly towards their group. It was an obviously defensive position, but Dean still gripped his gun tighter at his side. It would suck to have to kill the guy they just went through all that trouble for, but he would do it in the blink of an eye if he moved to try and hurt any single one of them.

“What the hell is his problem?” Ruby of course voiced aloud what everyone was thinking.

“What do you think?” Jo bit back from across the circle sarcastically. “You go try playing a game of tag in the city and see if you’re not freaked out afterwards.”

“Hey Hun, you gunna be okay there?” Ellen wearily called out and received no answer except for maybe even harsher panting.

Dean could barely make out Ruby’s reply over the sound if his ragged, hoarse breaths. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Something is _wrong_ with him.”

Sam chimed in as he inched closer, “Would you two shut up? He obviously needs help.” Once again in a more calming but clear voice, “Hey, you’re safe. You are Okay. Can you hear me?”

The man showed no move of recognition and Gordon was the one to finally ask, “Do you think he’s infected?” Even as he asked it, Gordon was tightening his hold on the blade in his hand and inching closer behind him. Dean held his and slowly made his way over to his brother’s side as he looked him over.

There was definitely blood on several areas of him, and he was absolutely covered in dirt and sweat. There was no telling apart any old injuries from new from this distance and he was quivering nearly violently now as he unsteadily held his weapon out in front of him. The major question was, whose blood was covering him, and had any of it got in any wounds? They couldn’t afford to let him get the drop on them if he was somehow infected.

Jo spoke up, “No, you saw how he was running. They were chasing him!”

“He could still be in between.” Gordon returned.

Dean watched as the man raised his machete even closer to Sam, who was still just standing there. No way in _hell_ was he letting this spooked animal of a man get any closer to his not-so-little brother. Dean reached forward, grabbed Sam by the shoulder, and hauled him back a step or two. Sam seemingly refused to give up on his quest to get through as he almost pleaded with the guy, “Listen, if you would just put your weapon down and let us check you, nothing bad has to happen. You’re hurt. We can help you.”

Even as Sam spoke the man stumbled to the left before standing straight again, panting gasps filling the air like a drowning man. He reached out with a shaking left hand and tried steading the machete in his right, but missed as it fell out of his grip. He stood there for a split moment, both hands slightly raised and shaking in the air before his eyes rolled back and his legs gave out on him, and he crumpled forward.

Out of instinct, Sam and Dean both reached forward to catch him, but with him veering towards the left, Dean barely managed to throw out a hand between the guy’s head and the pavement before he fell hard. “Shit!”

 

It was all a mix of shouting and orders soon after that. Some saying they should just leave him here, with others, especially Sam and Jo, vehemently disagreeing.

What really got things moving along was the ever growing pack of growling and raging Croatoans assembling only a good fifteen feet away at the fence. Many were even beginning to climb it and the last thing they needed was the barrier falling down on this side of town. What was finally decided, because ‘for god’s sake we wasted half of today’s ammo on the bastard’, was to bring him in one of the cars until they were a safe distance away.

Dean only felt a little bad when they zip tied his hands behind his back. He was unconscious, but this guy wasn’t exactly screaming ‘sane’ back there and they just couldn’t take the chance. Gordon and Dean sat in the back of the jeep with the man between them, head lying on the corner of one of Dean’s knees. Chuck took the driver’s seat and Sam rode passenger, with the other’s packing into the other car. Gordon asked if they should bag his head in case he woke up infected and tried biting, but instead Dean folded up the bag and set it between the guy’s head and his knee for extra padding. He was still breathing pretty harshly despite being knocked out; he didn’t need any more obstacles for his airways. Besides, he highly doubted this guy would be waking up any time soon.

It was about ten minutes later, when their hearts had stopped rushing and the adrenaline was beginning to die down that Dean, along with an irritated Gordon, began to carefully look the man over for open injuries. There were an uncomfortable amount of cuts and scratches for their liking. It was when Dean was warily lifting one side of his jacket and shirt up to get a look at his stomach that he suddenly smelt it, and it hit him like a brick to the face.

He knew that Gordon must have got a whiff of it too because he slumped back in his seat and let out a low whistle, “Well, hot damn.”

Sam twisted around in the front seat, looking between them curiously, “What?”

Dean looked at his brother with what he knew must’ve been shock written across his face before he glanced back down at the unconscious man in his arms. “He’s an Omega.”


	2. Time Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I was NOT expecting the attention that this got. Thank you all so much who reviewed, it really made me stay on track and keep writing.  
> If the usual A/B/O elements found in most fics don't seem very apparent for awhile ,don’t worry, there’s a reason for that. We'll build up to it soon.
> 
> And I’m giving my forewarning now, there is a reason this has the warnings labeled that it does. There will be detailed non-con scenarios at later points and I probably won’t have a warning before hand for those chapters (unless it’s really requested)]

X

“Well, well. Look what the cats dragged in” the words were sing-sung and echoed down from the end of the hallway. Dean groaned. Great. Just fucking great. That’s exactly what they needed.

“Shut up, Meg.” He pushed past her, shifting the body in his arms. He was holding the guy from under his shoulders, while Gordon had his legs. “Ellen wants you down in East to help count inventory.” He glared at her, daring her to try to keep following them. Instead of objecting, she shrugged with a playful smirk and walked the opposite way they were heading. Good. One less pain in the ass to deal with.

“Move, please!” Sam called out a few feet in front of them, clearing the throng of people that seemed to be slowly thickening.

It had been a pretty long drive; full of a surprising amount of bickering and awkward back seat shifting that only seemed to increase as time passed by. It was actually a relief when they eventually got in close-enough range to radio in the situation and get the go ahead from camp to bring the newcomer in with them.

For being a fully-grown man, he was a bit of a small, lithe thing. Really, he looked like he was missing the about-twenty pounds that would probably be his more natural weight. Despite this, he weighed enough that Deans muscles were beginning to strain by the time they made it through checkpoint and across camp and down into the underground quarters.

Finally, after what seemed like forever they dumped him on the twin sized bed in the corner of, besides a closet sized bathroom to one side, an otherwise bare room. Not even a groan rose out of him. He was so unresponsive that Dean had actually had to check him _twice_ throughout the trip to make sure he hadn’t gone and died on them.

He took a step or two back and, with barely a pause, the atmosphere grew almost awkward and uncomfortable. Multiple people stood around along with Dean, shifting a few feet from the bed. Now what? This wasn’t the first time they’d brought someone new back to camp, not by a long shot. But normally they were conscious. And coherent. And, um, oh yeah, not clearly filling up the room with the faint scent of an Omega. That in itself was a new enough sensation to cause tension. Slowly, the room became more and more filled as people walked by and were attracted by the spectacle that the crowded end of this hallway was creating.

Jess and Chuck arrived almost simultaneously. Chuck tossed Dean a thin rope, while Jess immediately walked up to Sam’s side and Dean could overhear her excited, “Is it true, what happened? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?” Her questioning paused just long enough for a quick air intake and a prompt hard punch to his brother’s arm before nearly growling out “What the hell were you thinking?! Having a shoot out that close to the city!?-” Sam’s soft rebuttal was lost in the storm that was Jess. “-Hell, I heard he was actually in the city! You could have gotten everybody killed!”

There was no way in hell Dean was stepping in between his brother and his rampaging ‘not girlfriend’. Besides, who else could he count on to start the berating he planned on handing to his little brother for the next year?

Gordon stepped forward again, waving Dean to move with him. He ignored those behind him in favor of helping Gordon softly turn the guy onto his side. They barely touched him before Jess appeared, completely interrupting and unapologetic beside them, intruding in on his personal space-bubble in favor of touching the man’s shoulders and face in a quick-but-calculating gentle brush “What happened to him? Does he need medical attention?” Even as Dean was turning to do so, Sam beat him to the punch in pulling the-now-irritated beta away.

“Jess, we don’t know if he’s infected or not yet.” Dean actually sighs in relief when Bobby finally arrives and begins ushering the ridiculously surplus amount of onlookers out. This room could barely keep three of four comfortably seated, much less _half the friggin’ camp._

“You don’t _know?!_ ” Her incredulousness was not lost on them.

“No, we don’t!” Dean barked back before his brother could answer, and only felt a little guilty that his own irritation was finally beginning to bleed through. Jess was the closest thing to a medic this camp had, so it only made sense that she was allowed to be in the room and was already kicking up a fuss, but was it too much to ask for to have just five minutes of calm to settle things down before the interrogations began?

Bobby swung the door until it was only cracked open after he managed to man handle the majority of everyone out, leaving him, Dean, Sam, Jess, Gordon, and the unnamed Omega behind. Dean could still see a few stragglers’ shifting in and out of sight on the other side of the door. So much for keeping this whole incident low-key.

“There’s too many cuts on him to be sure.” Sam continued for him. “Honestly, there’s probably a really good chance that he’s already lost, but I didn’t want to leave him behind without knowing for sure, you know?” Bobby motioned for Dean and Gordon to continue what they’d been doing before Jess interrupted them.

“Oh, well aren’t you just the perfect Samaritan. I still say this is a stupid decision, if you ask me.” Gordon muttered as he held the mans hands at a better angle.

“Well it’s a good thing nobody’s asking you.” Sam quipped. Wow. He was just Mr. Sass-master today.

Gordon paused, turning back around “Now I _know_ I misheard you-”

“Boys, please!” Jess stepped in front of Sam, a soft placating hand on his chest as Bobby muttered out from the corner of the room, “Oh, don’t you two even start.”

Dean huffed and pushed Gordon to the side, he could do this by himself. “Seriously, is everyone on their monthly or what?” He looped the rope around the man’s wrists.

“Oh you did not just go there. Dean I will personally whoop-wh-what are you doing?” Jess, once again popped up by his shoulder.

“Making sure he won’t be getting the jump on us any time soon. Already told you, he’s more than likely waking up on the wicked side of the bed.”

“But he’s already tied.”

Bobby piped in his two cents, “No such thing as enough restraints, when you’re talkin’ about a possible Croat waking up inside your camp. Which I hate to admit, I kinda’ have to agree with Gordon here, this is not one of your smartest ideas.”

-“He has a fifty/fifty chance, did you really want us to just leave him to die in the middle of the streets?”  
-“Do you really have to be that rough about it? Look at him!”

Oh, Sam, Jess, and their ever-bleeding hearts were definitely going to be the death of him.

“We are not taking any chances with this. And I am _not_ being rough.” Dean was actually a little offended. He took quite the pride in his knot-tying skills. He was not being rough at all, he was being _thorough._

Okay, so maybe he had accidently been pulling the knots just a bit tighter than he had meant to, but he was still on edge from listening to everyone, including his little brother, bickering all afternoon. It seemed that at least every fifteen minutes ever since they left the city border just over two hours ago, somebody had found something to complain or fight about, no matter how miniscule. And Dean wasn’t exactly innocent in this aspect either.

Dean pulled on the ends of the knots, making sure they were up to par before he stepped back to stand amongst the group. Jess huffed and turned, muttering that she was going to go get water and some cloth. Almost like clockwork as she stepped out of the room, Alastair stepped in. Dean grimaced. He couldn’t help it, it had turned into a habit.

For the first time since Dean was fixing the jeep radio, which felt like days ago now, all the bickering and commotion reverted back into an almost calm silence. In all honesty, he was trying really hard to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that was yelling about how creepy it was for five grown men to just be standing around staring at an unconscious dude tied on a bed. Yeah, totally not creepy at all.

Mystery man was so dead to the world that he hadn’t even flinched when Dean had tied the rope tightly over the zip-tie. At least his frantic panting from earlier had died down during the car ride. Now that Dean could get a good look, he could see that the man’s age appeared to be somewhere around his twenties. It was hard to guess a better approximation because while he seemed to have a young face, all the dirt, blood, and scars added years to his appearance. He had dark brown, shaggy hair that curled at the ends and the beginnings of a scruffy beard growing in. There were bags under his eyes and those types of lines on either side of his nose that some people got when they were sleep-deprived. His blue and red hoody was somewhat damp from god knows what and torn in several places. His pants had holes in the knee’s and the bottom of his left sneaker was frayed and falling apart. All in all, he looked like utter shit. It made Dean once again wonder how long the Omega had been roughing it on his own in the city and how that had come to be.

Nobody travelled alone these days. Well, at least not by choice. Was he a part of a group? Or another Camp? If so, what happened to them? Did he get separated from them, or were they lying dead back in those urban streets?

 

Gordon was the one to finally break the quiet, “So what are we going to do with him?”

“What do you mean? There’s not much to do but sit back and wait to see if he turns.” Dean crosses his arms in front of him.

“Yeah, but, say he doesn’t turn, what then? He didn’t exactly look too happy to be stopped back there. I thought he was ‘gunna slice your brother in two.”

Alastair snorts and Dean frowns at that, looking down. Sam butts in, “He was scared. You probably would be too if you got ganged up on by some other camp. We did kind of surround him.” Dean doesn’t know why his brother was being defensive for a man they didn’t even know the name of yet. He had a feeling that Sammy was using the poor guy as a means of sticking it to Alastair for earlier and you know what, if that’s what it took to keep his brother from having a brawl with the cocky beta, then so be it.

“What if he has a camp? What if they come searching for him?”

Sam shrugs, “Then we fix him up, and if it’s what he wants, we send him on his way.”

“Fuck no we don’t.” Alastair interrupts them. All heads turn his way. A smirk creeps onto his face as he glances at Dean and then settles his arrogant gaze on his brother. “I don’t know if you boys have noticed,” the sarcasm practically drips off his tongue. “but he’s an _Omega._ ”

When he doesn’t continue, Dean’s the one to begrudgingly indulge him.“…So?” He feels his lips press into a hard line.

Alastair rolls his eyes and sighs in probably the most overdramatic exasperated display Dean’s seen to-date. “So, besides Madison, when’s the last time you saw an Omega?” predictable silence meets him for the beat that he pauses, continuing with “And you’re prepared to just watch him walk out of here? Even if he does have a camp, do you know how much he’s worth? If anyone wants him back, we’re holding quite the bargaining chip.”

Sam’s holding a record today for beating him to the punch. “How much he’s worth?! Are you even listening to yourself right now?”

Gordon adds in “He does kind of have a point.”

Okay, this has to stop. “No, he really fucking doesn’t. Bobby?” Dean demands some help. Why the hell is he just standing in the corner, saying nothing?

The old man just shrugs and tugs on the front of his baseball cap. “This ain’t no prison. We don’t have any prisoners.” Finally! Dean nods, motioning to the man with a wide arm.

“Exactly!”

“Last time I checked, none of you spoke for the entire camp.” For once, Alastair’s disdain for them was more prominent than his cockiness. When he continues, he speaks as if they were the biggest idiots he’d ever met, and were just too slow to comprehend what he was saying. “This is a rare opportunity. Why waste-”

Bobby cuts in again “And you know as hell as well as we do that you don’t have that authority either.” Jess comes back into the room, carrying a big bowl of water, some clean rags, and a water bottle. “Either way, there’s no point in fighting over it if we don’t even know if the poor sap will survive through tonight.”

Jess walks up and sets the bowl on the side of the bed and wets one of the rags, twisting it out and climbing in to sit above the mans head. She waves off Sam’s complaints with a flick of her wrist. “Oh please, what could he possibly do?” She motions over the almost scarily still body. Dean bites his lip and feels his jaw twitch. She has a point. He feels bad for the Omega but he would never forgive himself if they miscalculated him and Jess ended up getting hurt. He’d never be able to look Sammy in the eye again.

She doesn’t wait for any answers before she steadies the man’s head with her left hand and gently drags the other with a wet cloth across his forehead. Getting the dust and dirt wet only makes him look even dirtier at first. It takes a few good, firm swipes to get the main layer of grime off and she moves lower, to his cheeks and nose, and then his chin. She’s moving at a calm and meticulous pace and Sam and Dean both are by the edge of the bed, keeping watch. The man doesn’t twitch a muscle the entire time. That is, until she accidently drags the rag across his lips. Dean makes a small sound of surprise when he see’s them part and a tongue dance out to swipe lazily at his bottom lip.

“He’s awake.” Dean moves forward, as he’s closer, and is about to pull Jess away when she holds up a hand to stop him.

“No…No, I don’t think he is.” She’s holding his face between her hands, looking at him upside down as she leans forward, closer to his face. Dean can practically feel his brother tense beside him. Jess warily calls out to him in a smooth, calming voice. “Hey Hun, you waking up for us?” There’s no response and he’s gone back to reenacting the dead. She calls out again “Hey, can you wake up? Just for a minute? Come on, it’s okay.” She lightly taps the mans cheek with her hand and his head just rolls with it.

“Hey.” Dean leans back and grabs the water bottle off the dingy bedside table and tosses it to Jess. “Try this.” She nods and motions him to help her prop him up. Sam gives a hand too as they get the guy at a slightly more vertical angle, head lolling back against her left shoulder. It makes it a bit harder to hold him up in a comfortable position while his hands are tied behind his back, but they’ll just have to make do.

Jess unscrews the cap and tilts it just barely to let a few drops fall onto his lips. She waits patiently and, what do you know, after a few seconds that pink tongue darts back out. Once he parts his lips again Jess presses the bottle to his mouth, tilts it more, and talks soothingly, like one would a small child. “Yeah, there you go. It’s okay. Come on.” After a few seconds of water trickling uselessly down the guys’ chin he finally gets the hint. Dean can see his Adam’s apple bob as he weakly takes a pull from the bottle. “Yeah, that’s it.” Another moment passes before he takes another. Then another. All of a sudden it’s like a light switch is turned on and the guy _latches_ onto it, gulping mouthfuls of water down, eyes still closed. Dean can feel his arm lightly yank in a twitch underneath him from the way he’s holding the man’s left side up and when it doesn’t come free from where it’s tied the man softly groans in complaint from the back of his throat. Then he chokes.

Dean jerks back out of the way a bit as Jess pulls the bottle away and the omega coughs violently, head barely shifting to the left. It actually takes Jess pushing him up more and a few rough pats on the back for him to eventually clear his airways. With every roll of his chest, his arms yank behind him in a futile attempt to bring them to the front and Dean finds himself grabbing the man’s shoulder’s to get him to stop, muttering slowly “Hey buddy, need you to calm down, alright?” The man, -and Dean really needs to find a name for him-, eventually gets his breathing back to a haggard minimum and his head rolls a bit back and forth listlessly.

“Man, he’s completely out of it.” Yeah, no shit Sherlock.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Shut up.”

Jess gently pinches the skin on the back of the man’s hand and watches it slowly fall back into place. She puts her hand on his face and pushes back bangs to feel his forehead. “His skin feels really clammy. I’m pretty sure he’s severely dehydrated.”

Well, that’s not that surprising. Dean lifts his hand and snaps twice in front of his face. “Hey man, you got a name?” When he doesn’t get a response Dean lifts his hand and manages to snap one more time before Jess knocks his hand away with an annoyed glare. She doesn’t say anything though when the omega finally creaks his eyes open, and bleary baby-blue’s blink slightly back at them.

He barely seems to give them a second thought as his gaze slides around in a daze, ultimately landing on the bottle Jess is still holding by his side. Before she can bring it back up, Dean lightly grabs at her wrist, halting her, and leans forward into the guys line of sight again. “How about a name, bud? Just your name, and then you can drink all the water you want.” He ignores his brother’s and Jess’ protests and tries to keep his eyes locked with those distant blue’s. “Can you do that for us? Your name?”

Those eyes, after what seems like an eternity, eventually blink in what looks like recognition of his request. Even Sam and Jess quiet down in hopeful anticipation, adding to the odd quietness of the others still in the room who haven’t made a peep. The man somewhat cringes, nearly looking like he could pull off being in his forties now that he’s awake, and he barely hears the hoarse whisper of “…as…iel” that passes his chapped lips.

“Ass-y what?” He looks up and Jess shakes her head, Sam too.

He coughs once before a baritone voice that does not look like it matches the body in front him grits out a much firmer “Castiel.”

Dean doesn’t realize Sam’s hand lands on his shoulder until he’s being manhandled out of the poor guy’s personal space, Sam taking his position instead without being as intrusive. “Alright Castiel, that’s great. Thank you. Here.” Jess lifts the bottle back to his lips and calls out a quick “careful” that gets tossed to the wind as he, -Castiel- once again drinks like a dying man. Which, in retrospect, he kind of was.

He downs the last remaining half of the bottle within seconds. Dean doesn’t think Castiel is even slightly aware of the whine that rips out of his throat when he’s met with empty air. “It’s okay, just take a minute to breathe, we can get you more water.” Sam tries to placate him in a soft voice that would probably better suit soothing an animal, and Jess rubs small circles on his shoulders. Dean’s swallows down a snort. He knows they mean well, and the guy’s in bad shape and probably needs it, but he’s pretty sure that if he was in Castiel’s place, he’d have gagged by now from the amount of tender affection they were both spewing forth. They really needed to find the pair a damn puppy. If they weren’t too careful, they might both flip into baby-mode and start cooing at the poor man.

Ironically enough, it was at about this time that Castiel suddenly stills again and gets this odd look on his face. “Uh oh.” Jess says, just a tad bit ominously “That probably wasn’t the best idea…”  
"What? What do you mean?" Sam looks at her and she's suddenly yelling. "Grab a bucket! Or- quick! The bowl!" but it's already too late. Castiel jolts to the side and pukes directly into, holy hell, Sam's lap.

There goes the soothing calm. Dean actually snorts this time and Alastair out-right cackles behind them. Gordon makes a disgusted noise and abruptly walks out of the room. And Sam just sits there, stock still, with a shocked and disturbed face that even though it really shouldn't, begins to amuse Dean to no end.

"I should have realized he shouldn’t be drinking so fast. Sorry!” Jess impishly groans out, “Well… at least it's only water." She gives him a sympathetic- but amused- smile. And she's right, it looks like he didn't up chuck anything but some of the water he'd just ingested but that didn't mean it wasn't still funny as hell. Sam glowers at them, slowly standing up, and leans over to grab the bowl of water and put it to replace where he was sitting in case the omega wasn't done.

Looks like Sam doesn’t really have the never ending patience he liked to pretend he did. “I’m going to go shower.” Is all he says, half scowling/half pouting and abruptly makes to leave, Alastair leaning away from him as he passes by.

Castiel looks like his eyes are getting heavier by the second as his head slowly dips lower and lower to his chest, completely oblivious to the uproar he’d just caused. Jess takes a cloth and runs it over his face, making sure it’s clean again. Dean once again steps forward and helps her lay him back down gently, head facing towards the bowl just in case. Nobody has to give him the go ahead, because he’s already knocked out again before his head even hits the sheets.

“Hopefully, some of the water stayed down. We’ll have to wake him up again soon and see if he can stomach some more.” With the bowl still being clean, Jess takes a third cloth, wets it and wrings it, and gets set to work washing down his neck. She makes a face when she goes to his arms and Dean and her both have to yank hard to get the sleeves of his blue jacket from being entrapped in the ropes, and then she can’t get them to raise higher than just above his elbows. Bobby finally stops leaning in the corner and makes his way over to see when Jess makes a disapproving groan at a fairly long, very fresh cut lining the outside of his forearm. She sits up and reaches behind her, pulling out two blue, plastic, latex gloves she’d had stuffed in her back pockets, puts them on, and gingerly wipes at the blood coating his arm. “And we don’t know if any of his cuts are infected?”

Dean shakes his head grimly. “Nope. And he’s got a few more on his stomach and back. We didn’t look much further than that, figured we didn’t really need to.”

Bobby shakes his head, looking over the Omega, and grumbles, “Do you know how unlikely it is that someone can get in this condition, and still be uninfected?”

Dean hangs his head. “Yeah, I know.”

“You boys should have left the matter alone.”

He scowls. “Well we didn’t, okay? I don’t know what came over Sam”- that was a white lie, the reason was standing nonchalantly behind them, arrogant smirk set in place- “but it happened. If it wasn’t for us, well, you should’ve seen the guy Bobby. He was booking it, and he probably would’ve had a few more minutes the way he was outrunning them but” Dean groaned. He was rambling. “It’s not that big of a deal. We’ve done it before. At least we saved him right?”

“There’s a huge difference between helping a straggler on the side of the road, and causing an uproar in the damn city, you idjit!” He accompanied his words with a harmless smack to the back of Dean’s head.

“Oh, give the poor boy a break.” Dean turned to give a skeptical glare as Alastair locked eyes with him. “No harm, no foul, right?” He did not like that haughty, suspicious smile he was giving him.

“Anyhow…” Bobby drawls, “We’ll keep him tied in here for the trial period until at least midnight. We should know for sure by then.” He gave the boy next to him a look. “You ‘gunna be the one to put him out if he turns?”

Dean shrugs, trying to keep his voice level. “If I have to.” He really, really doesn’t want to.

The Croatoan virus was passed through blood. It was an odd thing; a disease that seemed to make it’s victims get lost in a violent unfathomable rage, hell bent on infecting others around them. It didn’t matter how. Most grabbed onto the nearest sharp object in sight, ready to stab and slash their way through whomever was unfortunate enough to stand in front of them. If none were available, they’d resort to just clawing, scratching and biting through flesh. It was hard to tell if they could consider it to be a lucky trait, but most of the time, it didn’t just stop at the act of infecting another. Dean had seen more than his fair share of people getting butchered to pieces once they’d fallen into a Croat’s grasp. It was the ones who got away after a bad attack that ended up carrying the nightmare on.

Dean wishes that the virus was anything like he’d seen in any of those hundred’s of zombie movies that used to constantly play from before the outbreak. At least then it would just be a simple matter of whether or not one was currently craving a certain flavor of flesh. Everyone had, at some point or another, jokingly created an in-case-of-zombie’s escape plan. But of course this virus couldn’t be as simple as zombies. Containing it was hard, especially at the beginning of an outbreak, because it wasn’t an “oh hey I’m human-oh wait- now I’m not” kind of disease. It crept up on you. It took time. If you weren’t careful enough, the same person you were breaking bread with could suddenly be the one slitting your throat, and then casually continuing on with conversation until the next victim came a long.

 

The earliest Dean had ever seen someone blatantly turn was after three hours. This skinny sixteen year old boy named Errol a few months back had, unknowingly to the rest, been infected during a small scuffle in a back alley during a scouting mission and had failed to report it out of fear.  
Three hours later, when they were driving back on the open road, the changes had been so subtle that they had gone unnoticed. He grew quieter. More reclusive. He’d taken his time reaching for, cleaning, and ‘double-checking’ the majority of the guns, which should’ve been a red flag if anyone had been paying attention. They had let down their guard. Errol bided his time while inconspicuously unloading ammo from the firearms and waited for a twist in the road. When the turn came, Errol had nonchalantly raised one of the last loaded guns, and shot the driver in the back of the head.

There have been fewer times when Dean has felt so disorientated and surprised then that day as the jeep rolled over and over. Errol, despite having an arm bending the wrong way, had somehow pulled out his switchblade the second the car had stopped, and stabbed the girl that had been sitting between him and Dean. A lot of screaming and bloodshed later, and only Dean, Ellen, and some man named Jack that Dean never got to really know, made it back from that road trip alive. It had been a long day hiking back with sprayed blood drying on their clothes and screaming ringing in their heads. Dean still thanks his lucky stars that Sam had opted to stay at camp that day.

See, they’re extremely crafty when they first begin to be affected, brain processes apparently still working. Able to use speech, plan their moves, some, like fucking Errol, became straight up conniving little bastards. For this reason, everyone in camp has to stay on their toes, always looking out for any odd signs. By the sixth-to-eighth hour, they tend to fall into a more narrow-minded, hard driven agenda. By the tenth hour, one was normally a growling, glaring, hateful mess.

So yeah, it might be uncomfortable, but the Omega was going to stay right there, tied, until the time limit was up. It was 6pm now. Two and a half hours had passed since the city incident, six more hours until he cleared what they dubbed the ‘time trial.’ At least he would evidently be unconscious for the most of it.

“Boy, quit your staring.”

Dean jumped. “I’m not-” Shit. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring the whole time as Jess opened Castiel’s jacket to the sides and lifted up his shirt and began wiping down his stomach. “I _wasn’t_ staring.” And he _was not blushing._ Or pouting.

Luckily, they were interrupted by a light knock on the door before it swung open and Chad, a fairly young quiet alpha who’d been ushered out earlier walked in, carrying a pillow. He looked at them nervously before he lifted the pillow. “Heard he was going through the trial, and I uh, figured, you know.” He shrugged and pushed past them and Jess caught the pillow when he tossed it towards her.

She looked a little lost, but tentatively put it underneath Castiel’s head anyway. “Um, thank you?”

Chad nodded, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. “Is he going to be okay?”

Dean frowned. What was this guy doing? He’d never stopped by before when they brought someone in for the trial period. He helped out by the gardens. Not new arrivals. They had someone new brought in about two weeks ago. Where was his pillow then?!

Bobby looked back and forth between them before loudly groaning “Great. It’s already starting. The three of you! Out!” He motioned towards Chad, Alastair, and Dean, which only confused him more.

Why did the look Bobby was giving him make him feel like he was being judged? He glanced over and saw that Alastair looked annoyed too, but his eyes weren’t leaving the omega on the bed and-

-Oh. That’s what he meant. Dean felt his jaw go slack in disbelief. He _was_ being judged. Bobby actually grabbed him by the shoulder and lead him to the door.

“Don’t look at me like that. Go on, get!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! I’m not!-”

“-That guilty blush you’re sportin’ is what’s ridiculous.” And Dean didn’t get another word in edgewise as he was unceremoniously shoved into the hallway. He couldn’t believe this. So what, he’d been zoning out. Bobby should freaking understand the difference between staring and ogling, not like-

-Like the fucking _Leering_ Alastair was doing as he glanced back for one last good look before he and Chad were also practically thrown out.

Chad skedaddled his way on out of there as soon as the door slammed shut. Dean and Alastair locked eyes, and Dean glared in an attempt to not look as offended as he felt.

Alastair wasn’t buying it. “Oh Dean, if you looked any more scandalized, I would believe your thoughts were something …less than decent.” A grin to match his words and Dean was left wondering how this beta had somehow managed to have a cockiness and aggressiveness about him that rivaled nearly all the Alphas in the entire camp. If he couldn’t smell it himself, he would never of believed it.

“They weren’t! I wasn’t-” Dean stopped himself from spluttering nonsense and only grew angrier when Alastair lifted an eyebrow in mock questioning. “You know what, I have nothing to prove to you. Believe it or not, not everyone around here is a drooling desperate ass like you. Some of us have morals. ”

Deans aggravated words seem to echo in the short silence afterwards. Finally, that smile slid off of Alastair’s face and he fixed Dean with a stare that, even though he would never admit it, caused a shiver to run up his spine.

“We’ll see.” It wasn’t said in his usual sly, grimy way. It was short. Even. Clipped. He said it like it was fact. Like a challenge that he knew he had already won.

Dean scowled and rounded his shoulders. “Could you be any more fucking creepy?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and instead turned to head towards the dining hall without a glance back.

 

 

X

 

“Dean, I’m sure it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, well, it shouldn’t have been. Last thing I need is Bobby treating me like I’m some ‘kinda pervert.” Dean grumbled, stuffing more mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“You know Bobby doesn’t think that.” Sam rolled his eyes. He took a bite of chicken and swallowed before giving Dean a pointed look, fork waving around haphazardly in his general direction. “He’s probably just being cautious. Which, really, do you blame him? This is the first time…” Sam suddenly stopped, trailing off and looked down at his plate. Dean’s scowl softened. He wished there was something he could do for his brother, but he was still grieving, so he’d just have to work through it at his own pace. Dean was awful at emotional support and he was glad that Sammy understood when he didn’t always step up to bat and play the role of the big brother with a comforting shoulder. If their situations were reversed, Dean would have appreciated people giving him space to breathe and get over it, so the least he could do is try to give Sammy the same respect.

Sam eventually picked back up in a softer tone, “This is the first time we’ve had an omega in the camp since Madison. Even then, I’m pretty sure this is the first time we’ve had one here that’s not with c-, um,” He stuttered, eyebrows knitted together, and changed the ending to what he had started to say.“-mated?” Dean knew what Sam really meant but didn’t want to say, and the unsaid word hung heavily in the air between them, so Dean shrugged to appease him.

“Yeah, I know.” Dean sighed. They really had meant to bring the poor guy, -Castiel-, into camp without causing a ruckus, but somewhere along the line word got out about the action that had gone down by the city and the guest they were bringing back. It seems the story tumbled down the grapevine and even now, Dean could hear how the buzz of the dining room was louder and much livelier than normal. And he’d accidently met curious eyes throughout dinner twice as much per the usual. “And I understand that everything is, _supposedly,_ going to be different a second time around what with ‘the natural order’ or whatever they’re calling it falling back into place, it’s just,” He groaned. “I just don’t like being put on the same pedestal as Alastair.”

“Alastair is a depraved, wicked, jackass.” Sam returned, stabbing at his meat harshly. “Sometimes I can’t believe we’re even the same species as that bastard.” Sam growled, and Dean tried to not pay attention to how focused Sam suddenly was on decimating what was on his plate as if it had personally offended him.

“No arguments here.” Dean chuckled, but it sounded dry and empty even to his own ears. Instead he ducked his head, trying to catch his brother’s eyes. His tone grew more serious. “Listen Sammy, you need to stop letting that guy get your panties in a twist.” Sam grimaced, “I know it’s hard to ignore him, trust me I know, but every time you let him get to you it just adds more fuel to his fire.”

Sammy nodded slowly, but his face still held that scowl. He looked up at Dean suddenly, guilt marring his expression and half-whispered, “How bad is it that I’ve kind of been hoping one of his mission parties go wrong, if only so he wouldn’t come back?”

Dean nonchalantly glanced around to make sure no one was in hearing distance before he leaned in, returning “How bad is it that if something goes wrong while we’re out there, I’d probably go out of my way to make sure he didn’t make it back?” He raised his eyebrow for dramatic effect.

Sam didn’t smile. Dean hadn’t really expected him to. Admitting that out loud could actually lead to some serious punishments if the wrong people overheard. Two short years ago, Dean would have been horrified at even the thought of sharing something dark like that with his little brother. But that was before the outbreak. Now society, or what was left of it, played by different rules. And so did they.

The solemn moment was broken when Jess suddenly dropped her plastic tray down onto the table, both boys jumping, and plopped down next to Sam. “Jeez you two, don’t go looking too happy.” Sam grunted and scooted over to accommodate her.

“So how’s our celebrity guest doing?” Dean hummed.

Jess shrugged one shoulder and kept her eyes on her food, “Not too sure. I actually got him to take a few more sips of water but he’s still pretty delirious and he kept falling back under. He’s still out cold now but at least he hasn’t thrown up anymore. I didn’t really do more than a cursory wipe down to get rid of the exposed blood, but you guys were right, he has too many cuts to have any real idea of his health. Jo’s keeping an eye on him for now in case he wakes up but Bobby and I both think it’s a good idea to just let him sleep through tonight.”

“Jo’s looking after him?” Dean quirked a smile. Jo wasn’t normally much of a babysitter type. Much like him, her attention span wasn’t exactly known for it’s outstanding qualities.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I kind of really wanted to get out of there and Bobby had already left and Jo was the closest person around.” She took a bite of her food and continued, “She was happy to ‘cuz otherwise she’d be at laundry duty right now.”

Dean snorts, “She always manages to get out of it every time it’s her turn.”

“Oh please, like you’re any better!”

“Yeah, well, it’s not fair. Ellen doesn’t kick her ass back to Timbuktu every time she skips out.” Blonde hair falls forward over her shoulder when Jess laughs at him.

 

Sam smiles and gives them a moment to finish up their banter before he brings them back around to the original subject. “How come you wanted to get out of there?” Jess’s smile dims the tiniest bit as she turns toward him.

“No reason.”

“Oh, come on Jess.”

Dean’s a little perplexed to see the tiniest of blushes cover her face and she looks away from Sam, slightly embarrassed. “Seriously, it’s a stupid thing. I was just getting irritated over nothing.” Well that’s odd. Jess normally loves playing the role of nurse. She never actually made it into a program before the outbreak, but what she lacks in knowledge she normally makes up for with a nearly smothering style of doting.

“Irritated over what?” Dean prods. She said it herself that the dude was still knocked out cold. It couldn’t have been longer than an hour, maybe two, since Dean had left the room.

Her frown stays as she mutters, “Just that people kept coming into the room. We got four more visitors probably within fifteen minutes after Bobby kicked you guys out, asking if he was going to live or not. I wouldn’t have really minded if it wasn’t for the fact that they were purposefully coming in, despite it being really freaking obvious we didn’t want them to. It kind of made it awkward and a lot harder to wash him down when we kept getting interrupted. So instead I just stopped and sat there.” She started to sound more miffed the longer she continued, “Bobby actually went out and found a blue door card,-” The Camp’s universal sign for ‘do not enter’, “-and even after that they just kept coming in! He’s gotten a blanket and two more pillows for god’s sake.” She broke off, groaning.

“What?” Sam asked, confused.

She nodded as if Sam had added to her thought’s and not been lost by them. “Yeah! And one of them is a freaking body pillow!”

“Wait, wait, wait.” The behavior actually was a little weird and it didn’t sit with Dean all that greatly, but he couldn’t resist smirking, “So what your telling us, is that you’re jealous that the _unconscious bleeding man_ is rolling in high comfort?”

She glares and playfully reaches over to punch his arm. “Shut up. I’m saying that no _newbie_ should have more pillows than I’ve probably even touched this year. No matter how adorable or helpless he looks.”

Dean mocked an exaggerated pained face and rubs his arm, “God forbid if he turns out to be a Croat.” Jess’s returning smile is a little strained and she looks away.

“People are giving him their pillows?” Sam raises his eyebrows and looks between them as if he hadn’t just heard that entire freaking conversation.

“And blankets apparently. Keep up, Sammy.”

“That’s, um, a little weird…”

And Dean sighs at the implied tone Sam puts into his words. “Spit it out, what?”

A moment passes by where they sit in silence that’s only interrupted from the background buzz of the dining hall. Even that’s dying down as more people finish eating and socializing and head back to their rooms.

“It’s just that I never really expected it to start happening so soon.” He rushes it out in a quiet tone and Dean nearly misses it.

“Stop beating around the bush, Sammy. What’s ‘happening’?”

“You know,” Sam shrugs and if Dean didn’t know better, oh wait he did, Sam was shifting in his seat uncomfortably, “Everyone constantly fighting the whole way back, now the pillows…” He starts to drift off, as if he had actually said his peace, and Dean grunts in his –if-you’re-going-to-say-it-then-shut-up-and-freaking-say-it way, and Sam continues with, “I talked to Ellen somewhat about it earlier and she chucked it up to uh, well, ‘the natural order’.”

Dean gives him an unimpressed flat look. “It’s been an odd day. Don’t go making a big deal out of nothing.”

Sam bristles, “It’s not out of nothing!”

“So some people have been acting a little weird-”

“Yeah, _really_ weird.”

Jess pipes in a quiet, “Guys, don’t get worked up over this...” That gets lost between the two brothers.

“We’ve literally been back for like two hours, cool off your thinking-jets and stop analyzing things, nerd-boy.”

Dean’s not really expecting the heated, exasperated glare Sam gives him. “You can’t just ignore everything in our history books, Dean! All the elderly keep saying it, and it’s bound to happen. With no more government chemicals passing around, it’s only a matter of time before something causes the hormones to kick back in.” Dean groans. He so did not want to have this conversation right now. Especially with his brother of all people.

He spots Chuck rushing into the dining room and making a beeline for their table. Dean smiles like the man is the messiah himself for rescuing him from this paranoid and embarrassing conversation.

 

“Hey man, what’s up!-”

Chuck cuts him off, diving right in with, “Problem! Really _big_ problem! That omega-“ He keeps his voice relatively low, eye’s glancing around at the few other occupied tables as he rushes, “He’s loose. We don’t know how but he’s attacked Jo and -”

“What?!” Dean’s not sure who said it or if it was a collective cry but his brain freezes at those words. He bangs his knee on the table with how fast he stands up. He knows they’ve already turned a few heads with the outburst but _what the hell._

“He got out. He’s somewhere in the East end now. We’re trying not to raise a panic but-”

 

Dean doesn’t hear anything else Chuck says as he runs out the door, Sam cursing and right on his heels. He grabs his gun from his thigh holster and checks his ammo without breaking stride. “Fucking Croats!” He growls. Is Jo alive? Has she been infected? They should have never brought that man inside the camp. Not with so many open loose ends surrounding him. _Dean_ had left him in there with Jess and Bobby, both of whom weren’t at the top of his list as fighters. Dean’s not sure if it would have been better or worse if it’d been Jess that was attacked instead of Jo. The only thing that runs through his mind is that Sam would never have spoken to him again, especially right after losing Madison.

No. He’s not losing his brother, Jess isn’t getting hurt, and Jo better be fine and pull the fuck through because Dean is fixing this. He may have accidently helped let loose a freshly turned Croatoan into the depths of the camp, but he would fix it.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have chanced it at the city. It was stupid of me to think-”

Dean doesn’t have to look back at his brother to know that he’d see guilt and worry there. “This isn’t your fault, Sammy. You didn’t know.” He calls back, not really expecting any answer. He doesn’t get one. His brother may have fired the first shot, but he had been the one to give the order to continue. Dean had been the one to finally agree and help bring him into the Jeep, and Dean had been the one to convince Bobby over radio that it would be okay to bring him inside the camp.

They quickly reach the end of a hallway where it splits into two, both leading to separate parts of the East wing of the underground quarters. Like an oiled machine, they split up, Dean automatically taking the left and Sam taking right. They would ice this bastard before anyone else could get hurt.

It didn’t help matters at all when two minutes later Dean crossed paths with Gordon who was nursing a knife sticking out of the back of his hand and cursing the Omega to hell.


	3. Miscommunications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, wow, what a coincidence that I got a new job the day after I posted the second chapter! I have a full schedule & I warned that I’m a slow updater. But hey, extra long chapter today! Hopefully, I can pick up the pace for the next few. I didn’t realize how much I was writing until I was already halfway through the chapter and looked at the word count.  
> Yes, there’s a lot of action for the beginning of a story, but maybe that should give you an idea of how hectic life is in this verse. ;) Thanks once again to everyone who was amazing enough to review! This story is unbeta’d and I’m still getting into the swing of writing again, so every comment helps.

  

X

 

He has to be drowning.

That’s the only logical reason for this sinking sensation in his gut. Or is that his head? It feels like somebody chained him to cinderblocks and left him to drift through something thicker than water but lighter than air. And he’s pushing himself up to breath but his arms aren’t moving. None of his limbs are moving but the harder he tries, the higher and quicker he feels that he’s ascending, so he keeps on trying. It’s an odd sensation; feeling like you’re flying and tied down all at once. He keeps reaching though, farther and farther, despite not comprehending what he’s supposed to be reaching for. Finally he breaches whatever it was keeping him down.

Oh. It was consciousness. That’s also an odd but much more familiar feeling; that floundering sensation between dreaming and waking when your brain just doesn’t want to turn on just yet. It’s like a switch. He’s abruptly aware that he is, well, aware. Awake. His eyes are still closed but he is most definitely awake. When had he fallen asleep?

The second thing he notices is that his body still feels heavy. That shouldn’t be right. That sinking dream is still echoing in his thoughts and his automatic instinct is to flail his limbs out to make sure that they are still there. A slight panic grips his heart when at first he doesn’t feel anything. Then he feels his legs twitch. His upper arm pinches with an attempt at movement. Okay, they are still definitely there. They just feel like they weigh a thousand pounds.

The third thing he notices is that he’s sore. As soon as his muscles finally make a poor attempt at responding to his brains’ demands to move, a dull ache rises. It pangs distantly in his calf muscles and then raises to his thighs, and then quickly the ache turns into a burning throb. Pinpricks turn out to be needles, which turn out to be stabbings.

If there was any doubt before that he wasn’t all there, there’s no uncertainty now. He can feel _everything_. His chest constricts tightly as if it’s allergic to the air rushing through his lungs and his throat feels raw and scratchy and he gulps to try to wet it but it doesn’t do anything but irritate it even more. He truly fears that if he were to open his eyes and look down, he would find his legs to be rubbed raw and only hanging by threads. Oddly enough, his arms only tingle while the rest of him pulsates. It’s enough for him to gasp in pain.

And then the fourth thing he notices is the smell.

 

Alpha. Everywhere.

Castiel eye’s shoot open in alarm. How? Abruptly, his brain switches from pain to panic mode. The smell is overpowering and with just a few lungful’s, it already feels like it’s consuming him. He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting to see when he opens his eyes, but it’s not the blurry empty space that greets him. With much more effort then it should really take, he yanks his head sideways from his horizontal position to quickly glance around, trying his best to get a bearing of his surroundings. His vision swims drastically, but his instincts are screaming at him to spot the alpha, and to get away.

He’s in an empty room. Or at least that’s what he can tell between the walls wavering and the corners of the room slowly switching places. He can’t move enough to see behind him but there’s nothing stirring, which disorientates him even more. The Alpha scent is surrounding him and it’s blocking everything else out. But where is it?

No, wait. Where are _they?_ His brain does a somersault as it tries to register the fact that it’s multiple scents. Not just one. But that doesn’t make any sense. There’s no one else here.

Where is here?

Castiel groans and lets his body fall still again, eye’s clenching shut. Even that small movement makes it feel like his muscles are threatening to spasm in protest. What on earth happened and why does it feel like he’s just finished being the test subject to a hundred Taser demonstrations?

 

Breathe. Okay, backtrack. Breathe and think back. Be strong. That’s what Anna always says.  
He forces his shoulder’s to relax from the rounded position they’d cramped up into and tries to push his physical agony to the back of his mind.

 

His last clear memory was…was that he’d been running. Last he checked, he was still in the city, so of course he was still running. He had managed to get a full two hours of rest, and drink from a forgotten can of Coke inside an abandoned soft drink warehouse, after finally losing Croatoans that had been after him for what was probably hours.

That warehouse had felt like a blessed sanctuary situated in the middle of the deepest pits of hell when he’d finally stumbled into it’s rusty and cobwebbed and, best of all, _empty_ interior. Those two hours had been unbelievable bliss, even if he’d spent most of it huddled underneath a dusty forgotten work desk. What Castiel wouldn’t give to be back underneath that moldy wood frame right now.

It was after he had slowly crawled out to take a leak that his momentary peace had been interrupted. On his way back, he had accidently kicked loose a pipe hidden underneath a tarp on the ground. Even now while thinking back, Castiel cringes at such an amateur mistake.

Just like that, the chase had been back on. A Croat that had been upstairs in the factory came flying out onto a platform and almost face-planted with how quickly they took to the stairs. They yelled when Castiel made for the exit, which of course alerted more, which alerted even more. It was like a domino effect and Castiel took off to the small streets, waiting for a chance to once again find refuge.

The only problem was that refuge never seemed to come this time. He weaved through alley and backstreet and alley again but no matter how many turns he took he never seemed able to loose them. One or two would get left behind just for more to find him. Castiel had always been a long distance runner, but nobody could keep it up forever. After two or three hours of trying to inconspicuously dart into buildings and failing, Castiel’s memory begins to blur. He knows that he stopped trying to hide, and instead focused on looking for quieter streets, because the stopping and going was much more tiring on his body than trying to maintain pace.

And then… And then it was night. And running wasn’t so hard anymore. At some point, it even began to feel tranquil. Like nothing could bother him any longer. And then it was daylight. And then…

And then some idiot shot his gun. Right! There was a group of uninfected, which honestly, Castiel had begun to forget even existed. So that’s why he must not be dead, laying carved in a street gutter or roaming the streets deranged with fury.

 

While it’s a comforting thought to not be dead, waking up in this room after getting surrounded only causes his stomach to flip and turn. The thick Alpha smell clogging up his nose continues to set his heart into a frantic thunder. Castiel tries to breathe through his mouth to dull out the smell but the action only makes his head spin again with how much his raw throat protests.

He freezes when the recognition of the pull in his shoulders finally sets in. His fucking arms are tied behind his back. No wonder he couldn’t feel them earlier. He feels a bit ridiculous that it’s taken him so long to notice this.

Castiel turns his head to try and glance behind him. He doesn’t get far and there’s a thin blanket covering him up to his elbows. He focuses and tries to move them. His arms feel numb, but not completely unfeeling. His hands twitch and yank, but he can’t put the force he’d like to behind the action and his fingertips feel cold. The rope doesn’t feel very thick, but none of the knots seem to budge and, yeah no. These ropes aren’t going to give any time soon.

A second tidal wave of panic washes over him. There’s no way he can defend himself like this. He’s completely vulnerable. More vulnerable then the last time he’d been in the presence of Alpha’s and that’s not something he wants to think about right now. The only possible godsend is that with all these scents covering the room, it’s very unlikely that he’s in a place where he has to worry about a Croat wandering in while he’s trapped and immobile.

No. Castiel bites down on the air escaping his lungs, refusing to hyperventilate himself into a pathetic mess. This isn’t the time. He’s stronger than this.

_‘Breathe.’_ Anna’s voice rings again in his head and he focuses on it, allowing it to be a beacon of calm in his building panic. He’s proven to himself over and over again in the last few weeks that he doesn’t need anyone else to survive. He’s strong. He’s smart. Just concentrate and focus.

The room is empty and the alpha scents are somewhat stale. When he shifts his body, the smell slightly wafts and wavers. So they’re coming from the bed. That revelation is an uncomfortable one but at least that means the threat isn’t currently here. Now is the time to figure out how to get out of this mess before anyone decides to come back for him. It would be nice to entertain the thought that he was left here, that that group had left him behind and decided not to trouble him. He wouldn’t bet on it though.

The first thing he needs to do is get out of these ropes. His machete is, predictably, nowhere in site. They no doubt stripped him of the small amount of belongings he possessed. He was surprised that he was still clothed to be honest. Now that his head has stopped spinning, he glances around again. There's nothing sharp in the room he can use. He pulls again at his bindings but there’s no give. There has to be something. There's a small wooden door ajar across the room that looks like it leads to what may be a bathroom. Maybe, if he can just get up, there will be something he can use in there. Possibly a mirror he could break. He'd settle for a nail file honestly at this point.

Castiel braces himself, mentally preparing to try to sit up without the use of his hands and a body still protesting in pain. He moves his legs, about to pull them forward for leverage when a familiar weight and texture registers in his brain as it rubs between his leg and jean pants, against the bed sheet. He pauses. Was that…?

No. No way. Nobody would be stupid enough to tie him up without frisking him for... ...no. Castiel shifts his legs, rubbing his calves against each other in sheer disbelief. His mouth falls open in incredulity and wonder. That was definitely still old duck tape wrapped tightly around his right calf, just under his knee. Moving his left foot to use his ankle to feel along the outside of his right leg, he searches. And, yes!, there was the little hard shape of the small pocket knife he always kept bound there.

This wasn't possible. Was it left there on purpose? Why on earth would someone tie him up, just to leave him the small blade? Or did he magically somehow manage to find the one single encampment that still trusted anyone who was uninfected unconditionally? No, then he wouldn't be bound in a strange room that stunk of Alpha, would he? Whatever the reason, coincidence, sheer stupidity, or divine intervention, Castiel would take it.

He raked his left leg up against his right to try and roll up his pants-leg but it was almost entirely ineffective. He ditched the action and instead threw himself into trying to contort himself backwards so that his tied hands could grasp his leg. His body screamed in distress at the action and his stomach and thigh muscles cramped up at being stretched so abruptly but he braced himself and ignored the pain. If there was ever a time to be thankful for being born with a vertebrae defect and thus having freakish flexibility, now was definitely it. Still, he grunted in exertion and discomfort as his half-numb fingers awkwardly fumbled with his jeans, trying to roll the fabric up and grab at underneath. It took all of his effort to not sigh in relief and take a break when his right hand finally came in contact with the edge of the tape and he blindly grabbed and ripped with everything he had.

The tape wasn't completely stuck to his leg anymore, the adhesion gone after hours of sweating before but that's why he had originally wrapped it so tight. It was just a small simple pocketknife he had hidden away there that he often used for food and things that he attempted to try and keep somewhat sanitary, keeping as far away from his blood-crusted machete as possible. He'd had to get creative after both of his pant pockets had developed holes in the bottoms and he'd discovered that he couldn't really rely on his thin jacket to always keep items after a hard run.

The tape slowly pulls away and the sound of it unsticking from his leg is loud in the quiet room but he doesn’t stop until it’s loose enough that he can feel the small switchblade fall onto the bed. He still can’t get over the fact that it’s still there. After this incident, he might continue to tape the blade to his leg even after he finds new pants.

He flips it open easily despite his hand positions, the familiar repetition of having done it a hundred times before easing the way. A giant knot of tension in his chest starts to unweave itself as soon as he has the blade against the ropes. He’s not out of trouble yet, not by a long shot, but he’s on his way. He’s doing _something_ instead of lying around waiting, which he’s found lately is his much more preferred method of action.

It’s an awkward, unusual angle to cut at and he accidently slips and nicks his own skin a few times. The sting of it only improves his mood because that means the small blade is, despite being overall unimpressive, still sharp enough to easily cut.

He can feel the ropes finally beginning to give when he hears movement from outside the door. No, not now! He was so close! He throws himself into sawing at the last pieces of his binding as words begin to drift into the room from outside.

A peppy feminine voice is the first to become audible as Castiel hears, "Okay! Okay! It won't happen again."

"Best make sure it doesn't-" a gruff, annoyed one cuts off the first, just to be cut off again in turn.

"-it won't! It was only for a few minutes, Bobby!" the door handle turns and Castiel instinctively stills, lying limp on the bed and closing his eyes until he can barely glimpse between his eyelashes, his heart thundering hard in his chest. The door swings open and a young girl with blonde hair instantly rakes her eyes over him as she takes a step inside before turning to face the owner of the second voice. "See? No harm, no foul." Castiel can more hear the smile in her voice then see it. He can barely make out a blurry baseball cap over her shoulder but he doesn't risk opening his eyes to get a clearer view.

"Yeah, wonder if y'er mother would see it the same way?"

"She won't find out though, will she Bobby?" she half giggles and raises a white box in her hands. "Besides, Garth- the sweetheart,- made me this, and I can't just let perfectly good food go to waste, now can I?"

The man, Bobby, passes by her and steps into the room. He's older, but he certainly doesn't look frail from the little that Castiel can make out of him. Bobby glances at him and he can feel his heart beat somehow kick up another notch and he forces himself not to flinch in reaction. Thankfully, the man just sets down a foldable metal chair on the other side of the room near the wooden bathroom door and turns to the girl. "You can't just run around doing what you please. You agree to take on a job, you do it."

She looks like she's going to argue, but then instead sighs and plops down into the chair. "I know." she pouts, "I already get griped on enough by my mom, okay?" Bobby shakes his head, pulls on the front of his cap, and walks out, muttering.

Nearly immediately after the door shuts quietly behind him, the blonde girl rumbles "next person to treat me like a kid, ...gettin' their butt whooped..." she opens the container and Castiel can more smell than see her pull out a chicken sandwich. His mouth waters. His stomach rolls. The tantalizing smell of food doesn't mix well with the pungent mix of Alpha scents.

He didn't realize he was even hungry until this very moment. He'll have to deal with that later. Right now he needs to figure out how he's going to get out of here with this girl apparently keeping an eye on him. And that Bobby guy. His memory of before is foggy at best, but he's pretty sure that man wasn't in the group of people that had surrounded him when he passed out. How many more people sat outside that door? How many more doors would he have to get through after this one? And neither of those two had brought in any new alpha scents, so his guess was that they were both betas. Where were all of the Alpha's that he kept smelling?

His head hurt from all of the open ended questions he knew he wouldn't have an answer for until he made a move. He lay there contemplating, feigning unconsciousness as she scarfed down her food. She picked up an orange and then dropped the now-empty container on the floor. Castiel's focus zeroed in on her when she pulled out a six inch knife from a belt around her waist and began peeling the fruit. That...that would be a much better weapon then the wimpy rusted little thing he currently had tightly gripped in his hands.

She didn't look like much of a fighter. But then again, neither did Castiel. He was small in stature and he didn't have much experience fighting anyone who wasn't blinded by Croatoan rage. But despite those facts, he liked to think that over the past few weeks, he had become a force to be reckoned with.

She leaned down to drop a peel into the box and glanced up at him. She jumped. "Oh, you're awake."

Castiel can’t help the flinch he makes. Apparently he wasn't doing that great of a job at being inconspicuous. For a moment he almost squeezes his eyes shut as if that could take back the fact that he’d been found out. Instead, he slowly opens his eyes all the way and passively blinks at her. He waits.

She slowly sits back in her chair and after a minute drawls out, “Jess says you’ve been in and out of it. Are you feeling any better?”

Who’s Jess? In and out of it- how long does that mean he’s been here? He lays still and doesn’t say anything. He really doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on and he’s afraid that he’ll do something to send her off running to call for others. She stands up and Castiel forces himself not to react when she nears the bed.

She bends down by the foot of the bed and when she stands back up she’s holding a half empty plastic water bottle. “She also said to have you drink this if you woke up again. You’ve already gone through two, but you threw up the first one.” She awkwardly stands there and Castiel watches as she shifts her knife back into her belt. She seems to become more uneasy the longer Castiel doesn’t respond and he in turn becomes more uneasy the longer he’s expected to. She shifts forward and shakes the bottle, “Would you like some?”

His first instinct is to tell her no, so she won’t come any closer but his brain is still whirring and he’s become too used to committing actions before thinking them through. It surprises him greatly when he feels himself nod and he tries to comprehend the reasoning behind his body’s movements. He never used to be like this. He used to be the quiet kid who sat in the back of class who would rethink his answer to a question a hundred times over before ever daring to raise his hand. He was the kid who would triple-check both sides of the street before crossing and would pack two lunches every day just in case his first got stolen.

So it still felt foreign to him when his body tensed without forethought as she neared him. He knew this wasn’t about the water. Yes, his throat burned and scorched like a dry desert but there were much more important things at hand. He felt ridiculously aware of every inch of the thin blanket that he prayed was still covering his arms and what he assumed was mostly cut ropes.

He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline spike through his veins when she uncapped the bottle and leaned down to lift his head with her right hand, bottle held in left. His eyes fell once again to her belt and he didn’t let himself think any more. His hands yanked and he heard a satisfactory rip as the last of the rope fell away. In the same movement, he went to reach for her arm and sit up.

She yells, eyes wide, and jerks away. He’d been reaching for her bicep but with her movement he ends up grabbing her wrist, her motion half pulling him from the bed. He holds on tighter and stumbles as he quickly gets to his feet, fingers refusing to let go. Before he could grab for anything else a blinding pain ruptures on his cheek and, ouch, okay, she had one hell of a punch for someone her size.

He ignores the sting and pulls her closer, grasping at her hip, and inwardly celebrates when his hand enclosed the hilt of her knife and pulled it away. She pushes at him and this time he lets her go. She flies back a few feet and stands there, breathing heavy.

It took her a moment to register the new weapon in his hand and she stilled, her own hand grabbing blindly at her belt without looking down as if she couldn’t believe he’d taken it.

Castiel stood up straight, trying his best to pretend that the room wasn’t spinning again, and held his hands up warily. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Was that his voice? It was so scratchy and raw that it was almost unrecognizable.

“That’s bullshit.” She tensed and her eyes narrowed, but she was scared. He could see it in her eyes. But what he could also see was determination, which slightly confused him, until she reached behind her and he could hear the click of a gun being set. Oh no.

He was having the worst luck in the world. He didn’t give her the chance to finish pulling the gun out and instead shot forward and shoved as hard as he could to throw her off balance. She cried out in panic and fell back through the slightly ajar door into the, oh he was right, bathroom and he heard something crack. He didn’t wait long enough to find out what the sound was, opting to slam the bathroom door shut and grabbing the metal chair next to it, he shoved it underneath the handle. He’d been locked in rooms with this technique before but he had never personally done the locking himself and he was doubtful of the integrity of a small metal chair keeping a pissed off woman _with a gun_ inside.

He needed to move fast. Thankfully his head was beginning to clear and the room was slowly righting itself. He still felt queasy and his muscles screamed and ached but the familiar adrenaline coupled with whatever rest he must have gotten, helps him stay standing on his own two feet. He moved to the bed, searched by the blanket, and grabbed his pocketknife that had been knocked out of his hand during the scuffle. His foot bumped the water bottle and it rolled across the floor, water spilling everywhere. He didn’t have to think twice before snatching it off the ground. There was only a few mouthfuls left but every drop felt like bliss as it slid across his tongue and helped clench the burning thirst in his throat. He’d like nothing more than to sit here and revel in the first clean water he’d had in probably over a week, but he knew he had no time.

The young girl still hadn’t made a sound behind the door, and it kind of worried him. He honestly hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He just wanted to get out of here. He wanted to be somewhere where he didn’t have to worry about Croatoans or the Uninfected. He just wanted to be somewhere where he could be alone and sleep, without having to look over his shoulder just to find a new anxiety breathing down his neck.

Castiel edged to the main door. This one was a bit more sturdy then the bathroom door and he held his breath as he turned the handle. He peeked through the small opening and breathed half in relief when he was met with no one, and half in frustration when it opened to a long hallway with many more doors and no windows. Where the hell was he?

He moved out into the open, glancing down both ways to make sure they were empty and pulled the door to the room shut behind him. He wasn’t going to find a way out by standing here, so he randomly chose his right and took off at a fast brisk walk, barely keeping himself from sprinting down the hallways.

He made it down to one end where it connected to another hallway that stretched open to his left and right. He decided to take another right and see where it brought him. He was a few feet down when a door opened in front of him and a man and a woman stepped out. Castiel’s blood froze and he tripped over his feet, barely righting himself before the man glanced at him. Castiel stood stock still as their eyes met, but instead of shock the man simply looked annoyed and glanced away. Castiel gripped the knife he had barely hidden behind him harder and watched as the man grabbed the woman and pulled her in, kissing her. They pulled apart and murmured things to each other that were to low for him to hear. The man pulled off some blue piece of paper that was stuck to a door handle and after a few seconds they glanced back at him, the woman looking concerned and the man looking even more annoyed. Castiel was still just standing there when the man called out, “Hey man, this isn’t a peep show. What the hell’s your problem?”

Castiel opened his mouth but he didn’t know what to say. These people obviously didn’t know where he’d just come from. The woman raised her hand and a look of surprise flitted across her features, “Hey wait, who are you?” Castiel’s mind went blank and he quickly turned around, making sure he kept the knife out of eyesight and walked back towards the last turn he’d made. He heard the woman utter, “I don’t recognize him, do you?” to the man and Castiel picked up his pace just that much more quicker and took down the last left instead of right, thankful when he was out of earshot. He tucked the larger knife into his waistline and covered it with his shirt and jacket. Then he flipped open his smaller pocket knife and held it inside of his jacket pocket, gripped in his hand.

Maybe, if he was nonchalant enough, he could just walk out of here.

Which of course, was too positive of a thought in Castiel’s life apparently. He didn’t make it fairly far at all when he heard a yell from somewhere in the building behind him. It wasn’t very loud or long, but it was indeed a yell, and it came from the direction he’d left earlier. That was all Castiel needed right now.

It would almost be laughable to consider the half jog he was doing anything along the words of ‘nonchalant’, especially if you threw in the fact that he couldn’t go more than five feet without glancing behind him to check for newcomers but he couldn’t help it. There was dread slowly building in his gut again and if he hadn’t been so worried about someone coming after him from behind then he may have noticed his attacker appearing around a corner from the front.

“Unf!”Castiel was thrown into the side of the wall by his shoulders. He was dazed and panicked at the same time but luckily his body seemed to move without any orders and he barely dodged a hard punch to the face. A hand still on his left shoulder held him hard enough to keep him in place for a knee to be struck up into his abdomen, and Castiel barely glanced the intimidating glare of a black man before he reflexively began to double over in pain.

“Knew we should have left you there.” Someone snarled above his head. The man was quick and brutal. Castiel didn’t even have the chance to finish bending before an arm was wrapped around his neck and he was drawn back up against the chest of the man, his air cutting out. He gasped and instinctively grabbed at the arm holding him in place, blindly panicking when he felt a hand against his chin and another grabbing for the top of his head.

He knew that move. This man wasn’t aiming to keep him here. He was about to try and snap his neck, killing him. Castiel didn’t know it was possible to be more panicked, but he became momentarily frantic with it, shoving at the mans hands to dislodge them so he wouldn’t be able to get a good enough grip, all the while trying to get enough wits about him to grab the open pocketknife that was still laying in his jacket pocket.

The man grunted and growled in aggravation and tightened the arm on his neck and Castiel once again saw spots swim in front of his eyes. He’d never fought someone this aggressive before who wasn’t a Croatoan and it was frightening to realize he could be dead in a moment at this mans hands. It was happening so quickly, so easily. All those hours spent dodging and running in the city, never letting the Croats get the better of him, escaping that fateful night from that building with the others, and it was all about to be for nothing, all because of a man he hadn’t even gotten a proper look at.

Castiel gave up trying to get the arm off of his windpipe and put all of his concentration on grabbing the pocketknife. It was hard to do when survival instincts screamed at him to thoughtlessly claw at the arm until it fell away. As soon as he felt the slim metal in his fingers, he brought it up, stabbing hard. He felt it hit something and slide off, slicing. It was a pretty small blade, but the howl of pain behind him let him know that it was doing its job. The arm twitched from his throat and Castiel gasped desperately. He brought the knife forward and stabbed back again, this time it stabbed deep and stayed wherever it landed and the man yelled out and released him, throwing him forwards.

Castiel stumbled hard to the ground, coughing and gulping at air like a goldfish, one arm protectively at his throat, the other on the ground scrambling to pull him forward and to his feet. He looked behind him to see the man holding his hand, gritting his teeth in pain. Castiel lifted a foot from where he was on the floor and kicked at the mans knee’s, not even waiting long enough to see if the man would tumble down before Castiel scrambled to his feet and dashed away as fast as he could.

Okay, maybe fighting wasn’t exactly his best forte, but running, running he could do.

His body nearly tingled with adrenaline now as he drank in air and rushed, tearing his way around as many corners as he could find to put as much space as he could between himself and the aggressive man. He was relieved when after a few turns he could no longer hear anyone behind him. He hadn’t expected to be found so soon after getting out of the room, hoping that maybe he would have at least a few minutes to find a way out of here before he was discovered.

Apparently those dreams were dashed though and now who knew how long he had left before someone else was upon him. He was at a disadvantage, not knowing the layout of where he was and he had a feeling that he was going around in circles, all the hallways looking the same and no windows or clues to point the way. This place couldn’t be that large, Castiel was most definitely wandering down some of the same halls over and over again and the disorientating realization made him feel a bit claustrophobic.

Why was no one yelling? He hadn’t heard anyone after the first original yell and now he couldn’t hear any signs of alarm or attack. That man had come from out of nowhere and Castiel had assumed others would be closely behind but everything remained mostly calm and empty. Once or twice he heard a door open and shut or murmured words from behind doors, which made him wary of the idea of checking behind closed ones for the way out.

After a few minutes, he finally made a turn that didn’t lead into another identical path, instead it opened into a slightly more open, room-sized space where four pathways met together, two of which across from him led to what looked like more industrialized, concrete, looking area’s. One of these had a wide door open, and inside it was dark but Castiel could see that it had high ceilings and maybe he would have better luck finding an escape route or windows inside the spacious area. The only problem was that next to the door, sat a desk. And at this desk, sat a girl, who swiveled around in a black chair and looked at him in surprise and…delight?

He stood there for a moment, rigid, feet stuck to the ground and eyes wide. This girl, no, this _woman_ , looked fit with a plump face, had long brown hair, sharp chocolate-brown eyes, and red lips that were slowly pulling up into a smirk. Maybe she would let him by, not knowing who he was like the couple he had crossed before. He was getting the feeling that this was a large group of people and maybe not all of them were aware that he didn’t belong, or that he had had to hurt someone in order to get out.

“Well, hello there sleeping beauty.” She raised a thin eyebrow and Castiel’s stomach began to drop. She recognized him. “Didn’t expect to see you out and about so soon.”

He looked at the room next to her and tried to gage if he could make it in there before she tried to stop him. As soon as he did so, she pushed with her feet and rolled her chair two feet so it sat directly in the doorway. He met her eyes again and she smiled just a bit more. “So who gave you the kiss of life?” What? Castiel furrowed his eyebrows.

He could just take a right, down another similar hallway like the one he’d just come from and travel away from her, but he really didn’t want to clamber his way through the repetitive corridors again. The path directly in front of him led to the second industrial looking area but the door at the end of the hallway was closed. Who knew if he would find it locked? He looked again to the woman and the open doorway slightly to his left and decided he didn’t have enough time for her and her weird antics. He reached down and pulled out the knife he still had hidden in his waistband, motioning towards her.

“Please move. I don’t want to hurt you.” Even though he knew they weren’t, the words felt like lies in his mouth knowing that he had said the same thing to the blonde girl earlier, so he added, “But I will if I have to.”

The woman’s eyes hardened, and her happy façade faltered despite the smile never falling from her lips. “First inventory, now this? I can’t figure how my day could get any more exciting.” But she didn’t move from her spot, not even standing from the chair, so Castiel took a cautious step forward.

Then he caught the slight scent coming from her and he pursed his lips, trying to look more sure of himself. She was an Alpha, the first one he’d met so far. She wasn’t acting particularly threatening in any way, but the harder her eyes got the more strong her scent became. He consciously made an attempt to make his voice sound more commanding, “I have before, and I’m not afraid to.”

She simply crossed her arms and slowly glanced him up and down, from head to toe, “Oh I’m sure you have.” She met his eyes again, and Castiel felt a little disconcerted by her attitude. She didn’t seem alarmed at all at having an armed stranger standing in front of her, only a little peeved at having a knife pointed her way. Was she waiting for him to put his guard down? Or was she really just that cocky? No, nobody was that confident these days or they’d be dead in no time. Was she stalling? Yes, that was probably it. Waiting for reinforcements to arrive. Castiel tightened his grip and took another step forward, trying to be intimidating. She let out a small huff of laughter, “You look like a trapped little bird, puffing up in front of the cat.”

He felt himself frowning, getting annoyed at the belittling insult in spite of his dire situation.

“Albeit, an attractive bird, I’ll give you that.”

“Let me by.”

She ‘Tsk’d’ and slightly shook her head. “Afraid I can’t do that, pretty boy.” Castiel tensed with her answer, preparing for the worst, but before he could do anything she sat up straighter, held a hand up, and finally addressed him in a less familiar manner. “Listen, you want to tear through this camp, kick up a fuss, and get yourself killed, be my guest. But,” She jabbed over her shoulder with her thumb, “This room is my responsibility right now. And I don’t really feel like getting my ass handed to me today, so you might as well pick a different direction and get moving.”

Castiel was highly doubtful of her sincerity over letting him walk away without raising alarm. At least he had confirmation that he was definitely inside a Camp. He bit his lip and glanced at the other hallway again, if only for a second because he didn’t want to let the woman out of his sight when she was so near. He could try to fight his way past her, but was it worth it? There must be something important in the room or else why would she be guarding it? Or he could go back to stumbling through the maze of halls. Both options made his stomach drop and he felt his hands start to sweat when he remembered how fast that man had appeared and gotten the better of him. He mentally chastised himself. He’d been in worse situations. Don’t be weak now.

In a last ditch effort he leveled with her. “Please. I just want to leave.”

She didn’t budge. “I won’t stop you. But you’re going to have to find somewhere else to fly away.”

He wanted to growl in anger and scream at her that her ridiculous bird metaphor was stupid, but instead he gritted his teeth and turned towards the other hallway. Arguing with the infuriating woman would get him nowhere. As soon as he wasn’t facing her, he realized he could hear the distant sound of feet running in this new direction. He froze, heart quickening in pace. More were coming. He’d wasted too much time.

He shifted back from the new hallway and thought of possibly backtracking to a previous one, but far down from where he’d come, he could hear multiple people and after long last, someone was yelling something too muffled for him to hear. He felt a despairing tightness coiling in his belly. Where to go?

He could feel the burn of unshed tears arrive from his building frustration. Now he really did feel like a trapped bird. He didn’t know what to do. Being knowingly chased after by coherent human beings was almost more stressful and frightening then the treks of Croats he’d become accustomed to.

“I’ll make the decision easier for you.” The woman chimed and Castiel whipped his head back just to see her disappear into the very room he had wanted to enter. He felt his teeth grind and she called back a mocking “Good Luck!” just as she slammed the door closed behind her. He heard a heavy lock click into place, completely taking away his ideal route.

The next few seconds flew by in a blur as he surged forward to the second industrial hall and yanked on the handle, but just as he feared before, it was locked. There was no where to hide in this intersection. The only two options left were to either go back to a previous hall where multiple people were sure to meet him, or go down the remaining new one where someone was closing in extremely fast. With no time to think, he quietly rushed to stand beside the new hall, out of sight of the opening and listening to the footfalls. Castiel tightens the grip on his knife and even though he knows that he should, it’s completely idiotic not to, he also knows that he can’t bring himself to go out, blade swinging. These are uninfected, _living_ human beings. They also aren’t friendly ones. What to do? His stomach flip flops.

Four seconds go by before Castiel puts blind faith in luck and jumps out, hands stretching to grab onto the newcomer just as they come flying out.

Hands grasp at plaid fabric and a strong arm and he swings as hard as he can, using the other’s momentum to throw them off course and onto the ground. Mid-swing, Castiel’s mouth falls open in shock of how huge this man is. And not in an obese way. More like, huge muscles and a foot taller than him kind of way. And the man is quick, instinctively grabbing Castiel’s arms as he falls.

They both hit the ground hard, Castiel flailing to land on top. He instantly moves to press the knife to a tan throat, even as a large hand encircles his wrist in a tight grip to stop him two inches away. “Stop! Don’t Move!” Castiel yells and he’s terrified that he’s actually going to have to fight this gigantic, _oh lord,_ Alpha of a man because his orders are being completely ignored. The hand on his wrist tightens further and his other grabs Castiel’s shoulder, preparing to throw him off.

Castiel grits his teeth and digs his heels into the man’s sides, his left free hand grasping at all the fabric he can. His nerves are buzzing and his heart is in his throat. He can’t be budged off, he just can’t. The second the man under him manages to unbalance Castiel, he’ll be overpowered and they both know it. The pressure of this knowledge makes it hard for him to breathe. He’s trying but Castiel can’t bring the knife any closer to it’s goal, just as the man is struggling to keep it away but Castiel knows this will soon turn into a slowly losing battle. He’s smaller than his opponent, his body’s exhausted, and he knows he can only run on this adrenaline high for so long. He feels pathetic and hateful that when he nearly screams out, “I said don’t move!”, it comes out sounding closer to a plea than an order and his voice hitches.

Predictably, his words warrant no different response than before. His words don’t. But some clear liquid falling onto the man’s face does.

Castiel is as surprised as the man below him looks when their movements still. The harsh grips never loosen and they both stay tensed, but the young man is staring up at Castiel in shock. “You…You’re crying.” It almost sounds like a question and Castiel stares in mute horror as another teardrop falls off his chin and onto the other’s cheek.

No. No. No. He’s stronger than this! Why?! Why did he have to cry now of all times?!

He shakes his head once, trying to will himself to stop without giving the other the opportunity to knock him off. The frustration of the past half hour, past week, past two years, have been building up, and he couldn’t think of a worse time for it to hit him.

This moment of stillness lets his brain drudge up a blurry memory and he realizes this is the same shaggy haired young man who had approached him outside of the city.

“Sam!” The silence is shattered by a loud angry shout. Castiel gets whiplash with how fast he looks to their left and he’s met with the sight of a built blonde man, the same from the group he’d run into before, standing ten feet away, gun out and steadily pointed at him. Castiel’s stomach drops. He looks bloodthirsty and determined and Castiel feels a shiver run up his neck, Goosebumps erupting along the skin.

Now what does he do? Even if he could eventually overpower the man below him, he can’t best a gun aimed at his head. He’s completely out of options.

It surprises him to no end when the hand that was wrapped around his shoulder suddenly shoots up and, fingers spread wide, somewhat shields his face away from the deadly barrel. “Dean, wait!” Castiel looks back at him, Sam, in confusion. “He’s not a Croatoan!”

Castiel’s mind blanks.

Dean snorts. “You really think I care at this point?”

He stays there, eyes locked with brown ones that look like they’re searching for something. While he’s a bit lost at possibly being mistaken for a Croat, he has to agree. What does that matter at this point? They’re all way beyond that now.

They both seem to share the same thought because Sam suddenly speaks to him, voice quiet and heavy with a contrasting hint of caution and concern. “Listen, whatever’s happening right now, this is your one chance to give up.”

“Sam, put your fucking hand down!” The blonde one, what’d he call him?-Dean?, Dean bellows at him but Sam doesn’t move his hand from the side of his head. Neither does he let up on the grip he has on Castiel’s wrist, but that’s with good reason because Castiel hasn’t yielded the pressure he’s putting down on it.

“Let go of the knife. My brother _will_ kill you without a second thought.” Sam’s voice is intense and leaves no room for doubt.

Castiel can feel the veins in his neck bulging from stress and his face has gone numb to the point that he can no longer tell if he’s still crying. He’s frozen.

Distantly, he hears a door open and the same girl who disappeared behind it before reappears. Dean shouts “Meg, watch out!” and she jumps back.

Castiel’s a little lost when she yells, “Holy shit! What the hell is happening?!” He dazedly glances at her and she looks legitimately shocked and confused. What had she expected to happen when she left him out here? “Who is- Is that the guy from earlier?! What is he doing out here?!” She sounds accusing and Castiel is so, so confused.

Confused by this woman,-Meg-, acting completely different than that suave irritating personality she had on just moments before. He’s confused by this Sam, who’s protecting him from a headshot while simultaneously bruising his wrist in a power struggle. He can’t get the image of the gun’s barrel from ringing around inside his head. That’s the only one that makes sense and he still doesn’t understand.

Dean’s yelling something at him, something along the lines of “Won’t tell you again!” And Meg is talking, and Sam is grunting, and there’s too much going on. He doesn’t want to be at the mercy of this Camp, of these _Alphas,_ but there’s no other option because Castiel doesn’t want to _die_ either. He needs to just surrender the knife and give in because it’ over.

It’s over and there’s nothing he can do about it except hope they don’t kill him right away. He realizes this and he now knows this but he can’t get his fingers to release their grip. His entire body in tense and strung tight and he’s so tired of it all. He looks at his shaking hand and mentally orders it to let go. Finally, he feels his fingers loosening. They don’t loosen fast enough.

Dean shoots him.

 

Castiel doesn’t even get the chance to recognize the pain in his upper arm before Sam’s flipping them over, slamming him flat on his back. The air’s knocked out of him and Sam is wrenching the knife from his hand, holding him down bodily. Castiel opens his mouth but nothing comes out and then Sam’s being shoved out of the way by a murderous looking Dean.

Castiel scrambles on his backside, trying to back away from that poisonous glare, but a hand grabs him by his hair and slams his head down and suddenly the cold press of that same barrel is digging into his cheek.

“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet in your brain, right here and now!” The words are roared in his ear and he’s struck dumb by the amount of anger he can see glowing in the man’s bright green eyes. He can’t instantly get his mouth to work, his brain feels like it’s swimming in goo.

The hand in his hair pulls tighter, forcing him to lift his chin back, baring his neck, and the gun presses even harder. He hates the small mindless whimper that escapes him, even as Dean yells again, “Just one! _One_ fucking reason!”

Dean’s really going to do it. He’s revving himself up to shoot and Castiel quickly says the only thing that can come to mind, “I don’t want to die.” He’s surprised by how level his voice sounds, but he’s almost too strung out on stress to revel in his fear.

Dean pauses, just for a moment, jaw clenching. “What?” He growls.

Castiel refuses to look away from those intense angry eyes, despite it straining his neck with the way his head is tilted so far back, and repeats, “I do not want to die.”

Castiel can’t hear anything else in the room, too focused on the man above him who is literally holding his life with his finger. The moment stretches but Dean’s eyes only seem to get fiercer. He scoffs, “Well you sure have one hell of a way of showing it!”

“Dean-”

“Shut up, Sam!” He snarls angrily, “After the shit you just pulled, that’s the best you can come up with?” Castiel dazedly tries to nod and when he finds that he can’t, he shrugs his shoulders, instantly grimacing in agony at the motion. His upper arm is completely ablaze with pain now and the only thing stopping him from attending to it is the fear that any movement at all will set Dean off.

The hand in his hair keeps loosening and tightening, almost in rhythm with how Dean clenches and unclenches his jaw as if he’s holding himself back, right on the brink of pulling the trigger and ending it. He shakes his head, just slightly in disbelief, “What did you think would happen? You just _attacked_ our people, I should kill you on principle!”

 

Castiel flounders for words, eventually choking out “What else was I supposed to do?” At the look of incredulousness that passes over Deans face he quickly gushes “I just want to leave! Please, just let me go. I’m sorry.”

When Dean doesn’t automatically pull the trigger, and instead stares at him, Castiel dares to continue, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone, I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think I had to. I don’t think I killed anyone!” He winces because saying that out loud doesn’t sound very convincing for his case. He thinks quickly but his mind comes up despairingly blank. “I-I can’t give you any other reason.” He finishes lamely.

The other still doesn’t say anything, a grim scowl set deep into his face as they maintain steady eye contact. This close to each other, Castiel can smell that this man is also an Alpha. Three Alpha’s in one room.

 

A deep annoyed sigh slices through the intense silence, “If you’re going to kill him, hurry up and do it. He’s bleeding all over the place.” Meg calls.

He holds his breath.

The hand in his hair tightens once more, harder than ever before. Castiel grimaces when he feels some of the follicles being pulled out. There’s a storm waging in Dean’s bright green eyes. Finally, he hisses out a quiet “Fuck.” And shoves Castiel’s head away hard enough that it bounces off the tiled floor below him.

Dean sits up, all of his weight braced on his right knee on Castiel’s left side, his other foot on Castiel’s right. He glares down at him. “This isn’t over.”

Castiel nods, exhaling deep breaths, and slowly scoots backwards with his one good arm so Dean isn’t towering over him. Dean watches his every movement, he still has his gun trained on him, but his finger is thankfully off the trigger. It’s quiet.

He manages to scoot three feet before his back meets a wall and Castiel gratefully rests against it, eyes following the three in front of him. He reaches over and softly feels his left bicep. Stinging pain laces up and down from the wound and Castiel hisses in discomfort.

Meg says something, and Sam murmurs a reply but Castiel can’t make out what. The two brothers are watching him just as intently as he is back. Dean pipes in, “Gordon got stabbed.” Anger is still smoldering in his eyes, but Castiel can physically see his breathe evening out, the volatile aura slowly getting under control.

_“What?!-"_

“In the hand, Sam. He’ll live.” Dean adds.

Castiel doesn’t regret doing it at all, so he chooses not to say anything.

Meg groans loudly. “He’ll bitch about that for months!”

Dean ignores her comment, eyeing him distrustfully. After a minute he slightly nods to the closed door that Castiel had wanted to enter and asks Meg, “Did they leave any of the handcuffs behind?”

Castiel goes rigid from his place on the floor. Meg answers almost flippantly, “Nah, Azazel seems to be collecting them like baseball cards.” Dean frowns.

“Well then-,”

“Don’t tie me up.”

They all pause, looking at him in different levels of disbelief.

Dean seems to be the decision-maker of the group, so when he lowly grits out an _“Excuse me?!”,_ Castiel stares at him head on.

“Don’t tie me up again.” He suppresses the urge to gulp and squares his good shoulder. He knows the words are stupidly dangerous at this point, but that doesn’t stop him from saying “I’d rather you shoot me dead than tie me up again.”

“One of those might be coming true a lot faster than you’re expecting.” Dean growls and this time Castiel does gulp. Dean shifts forward, switching the knee that he’s leaning on so that he’s back in Castiel’s personal space. “I don’t _care_ what you want.”

 

They’re interrupted when Sam suddenly quips behind them, “This is my knife.”

 

He sounds shocked and confused and Castiel looks over the shoulder in front of him to see Sam’s eyebrows raised high above the bangs of his hairline. The shaggy haired man looks between the knife held in his palm and Castiel multiple times, “This is the one Ruby gave me. It’s my knife! I couldn’t find it this morning. How did you get this?!” He sounds thoroughly disturbed. Almost scandalized.

He blinks. Is Ruby the blonde woman from before? Castiel is still trifling through his thoughts, trying to patch an answer together that won’t put him at the brunt of both men’s anger when Dean sighs in front of him. “I took it.”

Castiel snaps his mouth shut and looks between them. Dean is still glaring at him, refusing to look back at his brother who looks downright offended. “You _what?_ ”

Dean purses his lips and rolls his eyes. “I had your knife and I let Jo borrow it last night. Look, _now_ is not the time to do this!” His eyes harden when he focuses back on Castiel. “Speaking of which,” He shoots forward and grabs Castiel under the armpit of his uninjured arm and yanks him to his feet. Castiel tries to quiet the pained yelp that escapes him when his arm is jostled but doesn’t quite accomplish it.

He looks down, surveying, and Meg was right, he’s bleeding everywhere. He doesn’t know much about bullet wounds, and he can’t see under his jacket to really assess the damage, but he doesn’t think any arteries were nicked. Or at least he hopes not, because he isn’t going to get any time to do anything about it because Dean hauls him away from the wall and pushes him forward in front of him, keeping the hand that’s not holding the gun tight on his shoulder.

With Dean shoving him bodily forward, they pass by Sam and Meg who turn to follow, Meg huffing an exasperated “I’m not cleaning this mess up.” behind them.

Castiel keeps a hand over his wound, trying to staunch some of the blood flow. They aren’t moving slow, and Castiel almost trips a few times but Deans grip on him is so painfully firm that he doesn’t think he could fall if he wanted to.

Suddenly, there’s breath at his ear and Dean’s voice is so dangerously serious that a shiver runs up his spine, “You better pray like hell that you’re right about not killing anyone, because” Castiel turns his head, and once again he’s met with the intense dark emerald gaze of the blonde Alpha, “If Jo’s not okay, you’re going to wish I blew your head off back there.”


	4. communications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I know, I'm an absolute bastard with updates. I'm so so sorry. [but yay! long chapter with ohmygosh, interactions]
> 
> Once again, it's all unbeta'd. If you see something wrong or awkward, feel free to point it out so I can improve. But I really appreciate any feedback of any kind at all.
> 
> There's a part where I had to go off on a tangent, and I'd been dreading writing it (which is part of the reason this took so long) so eventually I just decided to power through, so if pacing or certain parts seem to drag, my apologies.

 

 

 

X

 

Dean ignored the alarmed and distrustful glares being thrown in their direction, all from the many onlookers that had come clambering out of their rooms with whatever weapons were in reach as soon as they heard the gun fire from inside the confines of their own camp. It wasn’t hard to do, considering the bleeding Omega was taking the brunt of it all. Dean could feel the smaller man tense whenever a particularly vicious glare met his eyes.

No, what actually bothered him was that more than one person had the nerve to call out to their travelling party of four, or whisper just loud enough to be overheard as they walked by; Things ranging from asking curious questions like “Who is _he?_ ’, ‘Where did this guy come from?’, ‘What happened?’, to more demanding accusations like ‘How could you let a threat inside the camp?’, ‘Look, they shot that guy. Something’s obviously gone wrong’, ‘See? The Winchester’s are at it, causing trouble again.’

Castiel tried to slow and halt their progression a few times when some stepped in their way, blocking their path. They were looking for answers, demanding to know if there was danger and Dean growled, shoving the brunette through their ranks. He was in no mood to play twenty questions, and if some of his camp members didn’t get the hint soon, he may not be able to hold himself accountable for his actions. He overheard his brother occasionally dropping quiet apologies along the way behind him and it did nothing to improve his mood.

 

Four turns later, and Castiel looks surprised to be back at the same room they originally left him in. Without pause, Dean steps forward and shoulders the door open, dragging the reluctant man stumbling in behind him.

 

He glances around and relief floods over him as soon as he spots Jo, awake and most definitely alive, being propped up and attended to by Jess. A heavy rock of guilt falls from his stomach. Then anger once again takes its place when he spots the flashes of blood coming from the back of her head, staining bits of her blonde hair copper red. “Is Jo okay?” Jo and Jess glance up and are both taken aback when they see Castiel standing next to him.

When Jo tenses and vehemently glares at the brunette from her spot on the floor, Dean takes that as a ‘yes, I’ll live’. Jess quickly mutters, “Her head has a gash, but I’ve gotten the bleeding to stop.”

With a tight hand on his shoulder, he steers the Omega forward the last few feet to sit on the bed, and is astonished when the shorter man suddenly reels back against his grip and turns to glower at Dean. “I’m not sitting on that bed.”

Oh, now he’s just being fucking ridiculous. “Yes, you fucking are.”

He moves to push him back towards the flimsy mattress, but his blood boils just a degree more when it quickly turns into fumbling as Castiel presses back and shifts and turns in his hold. Dean growls and strengthens his grip as the bleeding man is half shoved into/ and half pointedly plants himself against the wall _next_ to the bed. Dean angrily bunches up the man’s jacket in both fists, nearly threatening to lift him off the ground and Castiel just stills, leveling him with a challenging scowl.

Meg snorts somewhere behind them.

The stare shouldn’t be that impressive considering that the shorter man is still clutching at his limp arm and his clothes are slowly but surely soaking up more blood than the grime they somehow carried before, but Dean still finds himself grinding his teeth and raising himself to his full height to meet those defiant blue eyes.

He doesn’t have to force any of the ferocity that feeds into his low rumble when he speaks “You _do_ realize that you’re walking on paper-thin ice right now, don’t you?”

They’re close enough that Dean knows the breath of his words are rolling across the other’s skin and he hopes the effect will help convey the borderline of anger he’s holding himself back on.

The other man doesn’t even have the decency to look apologetic, squaring his jaw without breaking eye contact, Castiel coolly replies “I consider myself aware.”

Dean feels his upper lip pull back in the beginnings of a snarl and his fists twist tighter in the fabric. He relishes more than he ought to in the slight flinch that pulls across the _apparently_ dense man’s face when the fabric pulls on his wound. He can’t help it, aggravated that the very same person who only minutes ago pleaded for his life, was now seemingly trying to test every nerve he had left.

 

Somebody coughs loudly behind them. Dean tilts his head away to see Sam in the room looking tensely at him, trying to communicate silent words with his eyes as he purposefully glances between the angry pair and Ellen, who he hadn’t heard rush into the room behind them. She’s kneeling on the floor by her daughter, hands softly but quickly checking every inch of Jo as the girl quietly reassures her repetitively that she’s fine.

He turns back to catch Castiel watching them from over his shoulder. Those blue eyes quickly meet his again.

Dean tersely takes a deep breath and steps back, slowly releasing his grip. He still doesn’t really understand why he’s giving the culprit of this entire messy situation another chance. Every few seconds the mental image of this disheveled man pressing the glint of a knife against his brother’s throat arises and he has to force himself to stop grinding his teeth. Let alone the fact that now both Jo and Gordon are injured. The cons of deciding not to put a bullet between those bright sapphire eyes are still waging war inside his head. He almost wonders if this Castiel is a few fries short of a full happy meal with the way he keeps pushing buttons that Dean’s not even sure he had in the first place. That would definitely explain how he seems so comfortable refuting every other thing Dean says.

The dude’s somehow missed the revelation that he’s skating death’s edge and should maybe just _shut the fuck up._ Dean’s angry, but even through his irritation, he can see the intelligence quietly sitting behind every calculated step and stubbornly muttered words the guy has to offer.

Castiel glances at the ground beside him, looks back up at Dean. His face is even paler then when they had first found him and now almost bruise-like bags were slowly forming under his eyes. “May I?” He lifts an eyebrow at him, and tilts his head meaningfully towards the ground but his words don’t carry half the attitude that they did before.

Dean nods once in permission and takes another step back, watching warily.

Castiel braces himself and slowly slides down the wall in a controlled movement. Even though he obviously tries to hide it, Dean can still see his grimace when he has to let go of his injured arm to catch himself from bumping the ground too quickly. As soon as he’s settled on the floor, he retakes his hold on his injury and stares up at Dean, awaiting whatever would come next.

Which is something Dean hasn’t entirely considered yet. The situation is tricky and fucked up now. The omega is obviously a danger and will most definitely have to answer for the damage he’s just inflicted on their camp. And while Dean knows that he somewhat holds authority in a quick-pace, high-stake situation, he also knows that now that everything’s back under control, the decisions aren’t really up to him. He’ll leave it to be a group decision for those that have begrudgingly been put in positions of power.

And for that he’s glad, because he’s honestly torn between wanting to punch that defiant look off this ballsy bastard’s face and wanting to shake his hand for still somehow functioning in that death-like state. It has to be a front, even if he didn’t count the condition that they had originally found him in, he’s way too composed for somebody who hasn’t tended to their freakin’ _bullet wound_ yet. And Dean wasn’t forgetting any time soon that he’d just witnessed the man practically _bawling_ on top of his brother.

Yeah, Sammy got bested by the bleeding _crying_ man. As if he’d let that one go _ever._

 

Dean steps out of the way when the girls stand up next to him, Ellen and Jess both gingerly steadying Jo between them, who keeps half-heartedly pushing their hands away. Jess complains that she shouldn’t be moving.

Sam stepping forward to offer a helping hand seems to be the last straw and Jo snaps, “I can walk!” pushing her way past them and out of the room. She sways the tiniest bit as she rounds the door’s corner and Jess trails hurriedly behind her.

 

Ellen calls out and stops Sam from following after them like a worried puppy. If Dean weren’t so worked up over the current situation he would roll his eyes. Honestly, his brother is so whipped it makes _him_ uncomfortable. She motions Sam back over and Ellen grabs Dean by the elbow and leans in, angrily eyeing the brunette who’s still quietly sitting on the floor. “Don’t you dare take your eyes off him.”

Dean quietly scoffs but there’s no humor in his voice. “Jesus, Ellen, do you think I’m stupid?”

“Jo’s no idiot, and look what just happened to her.” Ellen is in no mood to mince words. “I sent Meg to get some of the others, we’ll talk it over and see what to do about him.” She crosses her arms and Dean’s glad he’s not on the receiving end of her glower. She speaks loud enough for their company to hear her this time, “Remind me why he’s not just another stain on my floor again?” Castiel finally looks like he’s having trouble meeting their eyes with the weight of Ellen’s gaze directed at him.

 

Dean sure as hell doesn’t have an answer and he raises an accusing eyebrow at his brother. “Yeah, Sammy, tell us why again?”

Sam pulls a mild bitch-face, probably for Dean directing all the blame at him and suppliantly shrugs at Ellen. “He’s… not a Croatoan and he said he didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” Sam barely covers up his cringe; it’s obvious that the argument sounds whimsy now even to his own ears.

 

“He hurt my baby.” Ellen’s back to speaking quietly again, addressing only the two of them. “You sure he’s not a Croat and isn’t just lying through his teeth?”

Sam shakes his head, “He really did seem frightened of dying. And I don’t think he meant to, but he, um, started crying back there.” Sam sounds a bit bewildered at that and Dean nods in agreement.

“He did. You ever see a Croat cry, Ellen?”

Ellen slowly shakes her head, still watching Castiel. “Can’t say I have. Doesn’t make me any less inclined to give him a good bullet or two.”

They don’t say anything to that. Ellen is a down-to earth, no nonsense, type of woman but she wasn’t normally one to be out for blood. But then again, she’s also one of those protective, mothering types and Dean knows she has a short-fuse when it comes to her daughter’s wellbeing.

She sighs. “Gordon is down in Jess’ infirmary too. You boys watch him until we decide what’s what, you got that?” She sticks a pointed finger in both of their faces, before fixing it on Castiel. “We don’t need a repeat of what just happened, now do we?” She waits until Castiel finally bows his head in a mock resemblance of a nod before moving for the door.

 

Now it’s just the brother’s and Castiel. Dean doesn’t wait for the silence to settle in, and walks closer, “Speaking of what just happened, you want to tell me how you got out?”

Castiel glances up at Dean, and sweet Jesus help him not to punch his daylights out, Castiel looks _annoyed._ Dean has to force himself to keep his voice even as he crouches down to be more at eye level. “Talk. I tied those knots myself, not to mention we had a zip-tie on you.”

Dean almost wants to say that he could spot a smidge of surprise dance across Castiel’s face but he blinks and then it’s back to the same calculated monotone look as before. The silence stretches for a minute until Castiel quietly mutters. “I cut them off.”

“What was that?” Sam asks, crouching down next to Dean.

Cas shifts, looking uncomfortable with both brothers looming so close to him but having nowhere to go. He repeats, “I cut the ropes off.” He glances between them both, “Obviously.”

Even Sam is getting agitated, “Yes, but _how. Where_ did you-“

“If you don’t like your captives fighting back, perhaps next time you should remove _all_ of their weapons.” He scowls.

Both brothers are affronted. Sam quips out “You weren’t our captive!” at the same time as Dean retorts an offended “Of course we did!”

Castiel somehow looks overall unimpressed with the both of them, and it makes Dean want to double-check that he had actually been _shot_ and hadn’t just been faking it this whole damn time. 

Dean nudges Sam with his elbow for confirmation, “Didn’t we.” 

Sam nods, “Yeah.” But his nodding slows after a second and he glances at his brother. “Right? Of course we did?” 

Dean frowns, recalling that he hadn’t been too thorough in the jeep on the way back, still taken aback from stumbling over an Omega. He’d checked Castiel’s pockets before they came into Camp though. But Jess had also said that she hadn’t done a complete wipe-down, being interrupted as she was. Dean stills, struck by disbelief. “Tch. Son of a bitch, I can’t believe it…” Seriously?! Had they seriously brought an outsider into the _middle of their goddamn camp_ without actually frisking him from head to toe?! Fuck, now he really could take the blame for Jo and Gordon getting hurt. How had he been so fucking careless? “Where were you hiding it?”

And Castiel is once again tight-lipped.

Sam sighs and switches topics, repeating “You weren’t our captive. You’re not our captive.”

Castiel shoots back a flat look, completely unconvinced. “I’m not?”

“No, you’re not. Granted, now I think it’s safe to say we’re not exactly on friendly terms.”

Castiel’s expression doesn’t really change as he talks, but even Dean can tell that he’s looking at them like they are the densest morons to ever walk this side of the earth. “I was _tied._ ”

“You could have just asked to go.” Sam retorts.

Castiel scoffs, not buying it for a second. “Really.”

“Yes, really!”

He shoots them a fake smile, which looks more like a grimace really, and mockingly sweet, asks, “May I please leave?”

That’s it. Dean snaps, “You’ve got some real fuckin’ nerve!” And shoots forward just as his brother grabs the lapels of his jacket and manhandles him backwards.

 

The door to the room suddenly slams open, bouncing loudly off the wall behind it, as a pissed off Gordon barges in, “Winchester!” Oh, he does not look like a happy camper. “You want to tell me why the fuck this bastard is still breathing?!” Jess is hovering worriedly behind him, and Alastair follows in after at an amused leisurely pace, carrying a backpack and a drawstring bag.

Dean shoves his brothers hands off of him, “Not now, Gordon.”

“What the hell do you mean _not now?_ Jess comes in with Jo wearin’ blood like it’s a fashion statement, and I’ve got a fucking _hole_ in my hand and you want to tell me _not now?!”_ Gordon is furious and looks like the only obstacle keeping him from wrapping his hands around Castiel’s neck is the two brothers standing between them.

Sam throws a mollifying hand up, “It’s being dealt with.”

Like that’s going to work. Gordon growls, “Let _me_ deal with it.”

Dean has half a mind to let him, but he knows it’d be a bad idea, and after everything that just went down there’s no way in hell he’s letting Gordon get the last say, especially when Dean will be left with all the repercussions.

Jess swings around Gordon to stand next to Sam, trying to double as peace-maker. “How about everybody just calms down.” She speaks slowly and soothingly, eyeing Gordon apprehensively, “We’re all exhausted and stressed from a long day,” Gordon starts to interrupt but she continues on, speaking louder to drown out his objections, “You all more so than me, I know. But there’s no reason we can’t all speak with some level-heads and settle things like civil people, right?”

Nobody says anything, the only one looking comfortable is Alastair, leaning against the wall like earlier.

Jess’ head twitches and she looks between all the men in the room, “ _Right?_ ”

Sam swallows and nods his agreement, also looking between Dean and Gordon for their answer. Dean mutters a stubborn “Right.”

Gordon doesn’t agree, but he takes the slightest step backward, defusing the tension in the room by tenfold. Jess smiles, pleased. “Okay. Okay, that works for you too, yes?”

Dean turns and follows her attention to Castiel, who’s still sitting passively on the floor, quiet and observing, but looking as if this is one of the last places in the world he wants to be, which fairly, it might be. He nods once, eyes on Gordon attentively.

“You said earlier that your name is Castiel, is that right?” She takes a step forward but Sam lightly grabs her arm in a silent cautious warning.

“Yes.” Dean thinks Castiel’s voice is still too low and raspy to match his face. Like he’s gone too long without using it and the words are being forced from his throat, “I do not remember telling you, though.”

 

“That’s understandable. We could barely get you to wake up long enough to drink some water.”

 

“Why did you bring me here?” He cuts right to it and there’s a subtle stubbornness to him, like he’s daring them not to answer.

 

“Because some of us are fucking idiots.”

Sam glares at Gordon, “ _Because_ you looked like you needed help, and if we left you there you would have died.”

It’s quiet for a moment and Dean goes and sits on the edge of the bed so that they’re not all standing like they’re in a face off. He makes sure that he’s still within an arms distance of his brother and Jess, and in between Gordon and Castiel, this way he can see the whole room.

“And that’s the only reason?” Apprehensive, Castiel’s eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Well, yeah.” Sam shrugs with a shoulder, “I mean, there wasn’t much time to decide anything else. Croats were swarming and we needed to get away from the city.” Sam glances at Dean, but Dean stays quiet, so Sam continues, “We could have dropped you somewhere along the way but, you were still out of it and there was no telling if you would wake up any time soon. So uh, now we’re here, this is our Camp.” Sam seems to finish, but then adds, “We tied you because we didn’t know if you were infected or a threat. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Gordon snorts sarcastically as soon as Sam says the word ‘threat’. It’s obvious to everyone in the room that Castiel still wears the label.

 

Alastair casually pipes up from his corner of the room, “That was quite the escape attempt you did there.”

Castiel’s eyes flicker from Gordon’s to Alistair’s for a second before returning, apparently still assessing the threat level of the room. His words are slow and calculated. “I apologize for any harm I may have caused here. I was only trying to leave, I tried to make that clear, and it did not appear that I would be receiving any help in doing so.”

Dean’s trying not to look too surprised by the annoying way this guy speaks. “If what you said is true, then we can assume this was all just due to happenstance and… miscommunication. This situation has been…” His eyes flicker from Gordon’s to Sam’s to Dean’s, “Unpleasant. For everyone, I’m sure. I don’t have anything of value that I could give you for your troubles, but if it’s all the same to you, I would very much like to put this incident behind me and move on.” His shoulders sag after he’s done, and Dean wonders how much energy it took to try and plead his case.

Gordon’s jaw ticks, “That’s it? You stabbed me and cracked Jo’s head open, and now you just expect us to let you walk away, willy nilly?”

Castiel’s head tilts back to the angry beta, and there’s that scowl of annoyance that had been absent for the past few minutes, “ _You_ attacked me first, you left me no choice. And I regret harming that girl, but it was also unavoidable.” His voice rises slightly and his eyes switch again to Sam and Dean, like he’s not sure who to look at because there are too many people in the room to demand his attention. “You say that I was free to leave, but that’s all I’ve been asking for since I woke up! So yes, I’m asking again, because the only two options left are for you to either decide to kill me or let me go.” He’s frustrated and on edge, that much is clear.

Well, Dean gives him props for his bluntness. And for not addressing the fact that he had also been scathed, and he has to wonder if it’s because Castiel knows it’d be a bad idea to try and dish out more blame in this hostile environment or if it’s because he’s trying so hard not to appear weak in front of them.

If it was the second reason, then the effect’s lost on the room because before anyone can reply Jess steps purposefully in front of Gordon, blocking his view, and motions towards Castiel, “Well, we have some people discussing it now, no use in fretting over it, but how about in the meantime I take a look at your arm, huh?”

Dean doesn’t like that idea and Sam predictably objects to it. Castiel, surprisingly, objects to it as well, hand tightening protectively over his arm. “No thank you, that’s not necessary.” He’s also annoyed at his request being deflected once again.

Jess shoos everyone’s words away, exasperated. “You can all argue all you want, but when it comes down to it, none of it will matter if you bleed out here on our floor.”

 

She waits for a minute, and when Castiel looks like he may be reconsidering, she continues, “Now if I come near you, you’re not going to try to hurt me, right?”

Castiel quickly shakes his head no. Jess hums and grabs the drawstring bag from Alastair when he holds it out to her. “Good.” She walks over and slowly kneels by his side. Sam throws his hands up in exasperation and Dean sighs. She never listens.

“Don’t even think about trying anything funny.” Dean adds in, needlessly. Castiel’s outnumbered in the room five-to-one. It’s pretty apparent that he’s not infected with the Croatoan virus, at least. There’s awareness to his face, despite the exhaustion pulling at his features. It’s been, what? Five hours since they found him? Six? It’s barely any time at all, but long enough that he’s still human enough to prove that he’s more than likely clean. Dean still keeps a sharp eye on him, just in case.

She pulls out blue gloves from the bag and puts them on. It takes a few seconds but Castiel eventually pulls his hand away from his injury, eyeing Jess warily. She gingerly touches his arm and asks, “Does this hurt?”

He slowly shakes his head, “Not much, anymore.”

She ‘tsk’s. “That’s probably not good.” She carefully starts to pull his jacket off, and work it off his arm, Castiel being not much help at all. He hisses when the damp fabric unsticks from where the blood had dried and crusted it to his skin, and grits his teeth when his elbow is gently bent to help get the sleeve off. Jess rolls up the shoulder of the black undershirt he wore so it’s out of the way.

It’s quiet in the room for a few minutes, while Jess gently dabs at his skin with a sanitation wipe. Jess is mostly blocking Dean’s view of the wound but it doesn’t look too bad. It could be worse. It’s not bleeding profusely, only a slow constant amount, which means he didn’t hit any major arteries. Dean congratulates himself on his aim, purposefully not recognizing the fact that he hadn’t actually been aiming for the safe spot he’d managed to hit, only for space that Sam hadn’t been occupying.

 

Sam is shifting from foot to foot, but otherwise the atmosphere in the room seems to have calmed down a bit. Dean’s been perfectly fine sitting back and watching the interactions.

 

Eventually, Gordon pipes up with an overly casual “So do you have a camp?” And Dean slightly cringes for him because his switch is too obvious. He can appreciate the effort to switch gears, but Gordon should have let someone else do it.

Castiel looks up at him, slightly squinting, “What?”

Sam thankfully butts in, “When you leave here, is that where you’re going? Back to a camp?” Dean mentally applauds his brother’s good word choice.

Castiel looks down at where Jess is assessing the damage for a few seconds, looking thoughtful, he slowly says, “Yes… my camp is expecting me.” His eyes widen and he looks up, “How long have I been here?”

Before Dean can stop her, Jess answers “just a few hours.” And Castiel nods.

He didn’t have much to add to the conversation before, but now Dean’s curiosity is eating at him. “What were you doing in the city?”

Castiel glances at him sideways, guarded, “Why?”

 _‘Why’_ Dean rolls his eyes, “Because the city’s been a death trap since the break out. What the hell were you doing in there? Picking daisies?”

“I assure you, it’s none of your concern.”

Oh, come on! What the hell was this guy’s problem? “Okay then, why were you in there by yourself?”

Castiel doesn’t say anything.

“Where’s your damn camp?” Dean’s getting annoyed.

Castiel slightly raises an eyebrow at him, “Why would I tell you that?”

Dean groans, “Come on man, work with us here! We went through a fuck-ton of trouble to save your ass, the least you could do is answer a few questions.” Ellen and the others will want to know Castiel’s background. And it never hurts to be aware of any new camps popping up around the area. There’s not many now a days, but every now and then a new group will appear and cause trouble for a bit before leaving to join bigger settlements.

“I never asked for your help.” Castiel replies solemnly.

 

Fucking hell. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Sam’s eyebrows are drawn close and he looks somewhat like he’s just witnessed a proper puppy-kicking.

Gordon shakes his head, fed up with all of it, “Yeah, right. We’ll see about this.” Grumbling, he moves grumpily to the door and Jess calls out,

“Where are you going?”

“To call dibs on putting this ungrateful fucker out of his misery.” And he promptly slams the door shut behind him. Jess continues her work, ignoring the charged air in the room.

A few seconds after Castiel almost timidly adds, “I didn’t say I was ungrateful.” He keeps his eyes on the floor now. “Simply that I did not request your help. I managed to survive long enough in there on my own. But I suppose I am very thankful for your camp’s aid. I’m not sure how much longer I could have continued outrunning them.” Dean remembers how close the Croatoans had been on Castiel’s heels when they had seen him, and wonders if the man was lucid enough to realize how close to death’s door he’d really been.

“Yeah, well…” Dean starts and finishes, lamely. Sam’s not saying anything, just looking down at his feet.

 

Jess hums and it’s like she’s made it her own personal job today to switch topics every time a silence gets heavy, “I think I’ve mostly cleaned it. The bullet went right through. You’re lucky. I don’t think it hit your brachial artery or bone.” She actually sounds impressed. Dean leans around her and the wound doesn’t look half as serious when it’s not caked in blood. Dean doesn’t regret shooting him, but he’s glad that he didn’t cause the guy to lose a limb or something.

Jess leans back a bit, hand still pressed over his arm. “Can you lean forward so I can get a better look at the back of it? I have stitches but I think it will be safe enough to just wrap it up and let it heal the natural way.”

Castiel looks at his arm hesitantly, like it might grow teeth and try to bite him. “You think it will heal okay?”

Jess half shrugs, “If you keep it clean enough and keep pressure on it until it stops bleeding, I don’t see why not.” She glances at Castiel from head to toe, “You have a lot of cuts on you though. I …won’t exactly be surprised if one of them gets infected. You might want to wash them all out when you get the chance.” Castiel nods slightly, but it’s obvious that he doesn’t know when he’ll get that chance. Jess motions, “Come on, sit up so I can finish.”

Castiel doesn’t move forward, he stares hard at his right knee, mouth slowly forming into a hard line. Dean thinks it’s because the guy’s suddenly back to being too hard-headed to accept the help he obviously needs. He’s about to ask what the hell his problem is but then Castiel suddenly sighs and looks up, barely glancing around at the three men in the room (Shit Dean almost completely forgot Alastair was still there) before settling his eyes on Jess’. He looks somewhat defeated, like any of the pride he still carried with him suddenly gets drained away when he quietly mutters, “I don’t think I can.”

“What?” Jess is confused for a second, and Dean is too, before she makes a quiet ‘oh’ sound and turns to face the room. “Can one of you help him lean forward?”

Dean has to forcefully remind himself not to look smug. He knew the calm and cool act was a cover up. Now the guy’s settled against the wall and can’t even sit up on his own. And Castiel looks absolutely miserable over the revelation too.

Sam volunteers almost laughably fast, happy to do something besides stand on restless feet. Dean can see Castiel force himself not to try to lean away from his brother and Sam hesitantly puts his hands on his shoulder and chest, propping him forward.

Jess ‘tsks’ again and starts lightly dabbing at the back of the skin, Castiel barely flinching. It’s quiet again. Dean wants to ask questions. Wants to know how Castiel had practically been dead to the world an hour or two ago and then somehow managed to blindside three of the camps more qualified members. Wants to know why he was so desperate to leave when they hadn’t done anything particularly threatening beforehand. Yes, they’d tied him up, and Dean would probably be freaked too if he woke up like that, but it wasn’t cause enough for quite the degree of anxious distress that it apparently caused Castiel. It just sat weird with Dean.

 

Yeah, now a days, there were plenty of people who were freaked out and skittish beyond the point of really being sensible, Dean understood that. Some people just really couldn’t handle the shit hole that the world had turned into.

But there was something about the distrustful alertness to Castiel. As if Dean’s camp in particular had done injustice to him. Like he would _rather_ be out in the midst’s of the zombified bloodlust crazy’s than be sitting in this room with them. _That_ was something Dean did not get. Outside of the few human encampments created, was hell on earth. Which once again brought Dean to wondering why Castiel was traveling alone, and why he’d done it in the most ridiculous place imaginable.

And why Castiel seemed dead-set on not telling them anything.

Jess is thickly wrapping white gauze around his arm when she speaks up, breaking the quiet. “I guess I’ll go find the elders, make sure Gordon’s not preaching for a death sentence.” Sam looks at her, but Dean can’t tell what he’s thinking. His brother is trying to look casual, but Dean can tell that he’s still wary, and really doesn’t like Jess being next to Castiel, much less touching his blood, even with medical gloves on.

 

Castiel is watching her hands weave around his arm, he sounds slightly mystified, “You’re going to ask them to let me leave?”

 

She sighs. “I guess. Like you said, I think this was all just a big mistake. Doesn’t mean I’m not pissed at you though.” She tucks the end of the bandage in and uses a piece of medical tape to secure it. “You hurt people that I, _we,_ care about, so frankly I think you should be thanking your lucky stars that you’re still alive. But I also realize that you were scared. And confused.” Castiel’s lips harden slightly, like he wants to counter her statement but he says nothing. “Nobody’s dead though, and if you don’t cause any more trouble, I personally would like to see it kept that way. There’s enough death in the world without us adding to it.”

Castiel looks down at the ground. Dean swallows a bit uncomfortably. He doesn’t want to admit it out loud, especially because Castiel has been a bit of a bastard about the whole thing, but Dean agrees with her. He doesn’t want to see the guy killed. Maybe Punched. But not killed.

Sam is now looking at Jess like she is the sun to his sky and Dean couldn’t hold back his eye roll if the world depended on it. “Alright, Alright. Go work your magic Jess.”

She leans back and stands with a smile and Castiel’s eyes widen like he’s just now realized that this means he’ll be left in the room with the three others.

Dean decides now is probably a good time to figure out where his brother’s mind is at and to put the Omega’s nervousness to rest a bit. Jess gathers her supplies back into the drawstring and heads to the door. He stands.

“Hey Sam, can I talk to you?” Dean motions his head to the doorway and after a second of eyeing Mr. Enigma on the floor, Sam nods.

“Alast-“

“Yeah, I got it.” Alastair pushes off the wall and takes Deans spot sitting on the bed.

 

 

Dean and Sam stand just outside the open doorway where they can still see the inhabitants inside. Jess disappears around a corner and then the hallways empty. Sam looks at him questioningly and Dean swishes air back and forth in his mouth for a second before deciding to just jump into it. “What the hell’s up with you?”

Sam’s dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You’ve gone out of your way what, three times? Four? To save this bastard’s ass and I want to know why. You obviously don’t trust him. You don’t want Jess within ten feet of him. So why?”

Sam looks away. Shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Dean raises his eyebrows and leans around to make him look him in the eye again. “You don’t know.”

“No I don’t.” Sam looks like he’s tired of the whole ordeal and Dean understands because really, he kind of is too. Today wasn’t supposed to be such a headache. It was supposed to be a simple wake-up, do a supply run, eat, and sleep, kind of day. Now they’re all exhausted and nobody’s going to be getting any real rest until the decision of what to do with Castiel is decided. Even the lights are still on, way past there normal-shut off time so he knows that everyone in the underground floor is awake and wondering what’s going on. Luckily, they all seem to know better than to still be wandering around asking questions.

Sam shrugs again. “Back at the city, I wasn’t really thinking, I was just pissed at Alastair and wanted to do something about it. It was stupid, I know.” Dean nods because he knows this already. “And then when we got him out of the city, he just looked so- so-” Sam groans, at a loss for words, “He _needed_ help, Dean. It’s exactly like what Jess said. There’s already so much death, and I’m sick of seeing it.”

Dean exhales. “Yeah Sam, I get that, but that doesn’t mean you can just start doing reckless shit all over the place. Look where that got you! On your back with a knife at your throat, what would have happened if I’d shown up five minutes later?”

Oh, Sam’s not having any of that. “I can take care of myself, Dean! He wasn’t strong enough to-”

“And what if he had been?! What if-!”

“What if nothing! I’m fine! Jo is fine! Gordon will eventually get over it, and be fine! You know for a fact that we can’t control everything. I took a chance, and it kind of backfired, but it’s over now.” Sam and Dean are both aggravated, but Dean’s not ready to let it just drop. Sam’s supposed to be the level-headed one, who considers all the different possible outcomes in situations, and stops Dean from being impulsive and careless. What was Dean supposed to do if Sam was suddenly switching lanes? He had enough trouble worrying over his brother as it was.

“Why didn’t you let me shoot him when he had you cornered back there? That shouldn’t have been up for debate, he was actually trying to kill you!”

“He was _scared,_ Dean!”

_“So?!”_

He accidently shouted it louder than he meant to, and the two inside the room no doubt heard him. Dean takes a step back, taking a breather.

Sam waits a second before he quietly leans in. “It doesn’t matter that everything’s gone to shit. Lately, you’ve seemed to forget that the world’s not as black and white as you’d like to think it is. There are still people out there who are just trying to survive and sometimes they need someone to go out of their way to help them do it. It’s not just us against the world, Dean.”

 

“Yes, it is.” Dean responds quietly. “We have friends here, people I would die for, but not right now. Not when-“ He cuts himself off, because he doesn’t want to say it out loud, but they’re brothers, and Sam knows what he means. That he won’t get himself killed if it means he’d be leaving Sam behind, and he wants Sam to act the same. “It’s you and me, against every son of a bitch out there who’d rather have us dead.” And yeah, it might sound melodramatic, but it’s true. Croatoans, unfriendly camps, whatever gods the world has pissed off, Dean won’t let any of them lay a hand on his little brother.

There’s a pregnant silence between them for a minute. To give himself something to do, Dean glances inside the room and pauses when he see’s Alastair leaning down next to Castiel like Jess had been.

Castiel looks apprehensive, staring at Alastair distrustfully. Alastair has his backpack set in front of him, but his back is to Dean so he can’t see what he’s doing. Sam notices Dean’s pause and walks over to peek inside the room too.

 

It’s apparent that they’re talking. Or Alastair is talking and Castiel is listening. Dean can’t hear them but he see’s Castiel eventually respond to something, a small nod of the head. Alastair is holding something out in front of him and after an awkward uncertain pause, Castiel hesitantly reaches out and grabs it.

The brothers wait and watch as he slowly pulls the thing towards his face until Dean can finally see that it’s a sandwich. A small thin piece of the Camp’s home-made bread folded in half with what looks like might be peanut butter in the middle.

“What the hell?” Sam breathes quietly next to him so as not be heard from the others. Dean shakes his head. What is _Alastair_ of all people doing, giving him food?

Castiel brings it close, eyes darting between the bread and Alastair rapidly, sniffs it once, before taking a miniscule bite.

 

Dean takes a step away, so he’s less likely to be noticed and Sam takes his lead, stepping back into the hallway where he’d been before. Sam’s apparently decided that the conversation has been resumed when he speaks again, but without the heat that they’d had before, “I understand what you’re saying, I do. But we can’t keep living like this. Not trusting any outsiders, afraid of taking any risks... I shouldn’t have to explain this to you of all people, Dean. You told me yourself that that’s a dark road to go down. And that’s exactly where this camp is going. What would have happened if Ruby and them had treated me that way when they found me?”

Dean doesn’t like Sam bringing this up. It’s not the best of memories and he has nothing to refute what Sam’s saying, because in all honesty, he owes Ruby and even Alastair for keeping his brother alive when he couldn’t.

Instead of saying anything, Dean stands there and looks at a point above his brother’s left shoulder. Sam nods anyways though, like Dean has proven him right and says, “Right. Okay then. Can this be over now? I’m going to go help Jess, and see if we can’t hurry this along.”

 

Dean nods, and Sam leaves without another word.

 

He heads back to the door and leans soundlessly against the wood. Castiel has gone past his small terse bites and is now actively trying to shovel one third of the sandwich into his mouth in one go. He coughs into the back of the same hand holding the bread when he tries to swallow too fast, his other arm still hanging limp and bandaged next to him.

Alastair puts a hand on his shoulder and Dean hears him say “Slow down. I don’t think your body could handle it right now if you started chocking.” His voice doesn’t carry the smarmy cockiness that Dean’s used to listening to and it oddly puts him on edge.

Alastair pulls out a water bottle and uncaps it. As soon as Castiel see’s it, his eyes widen and he drops the last half of the sandwich onto his lap in favor of reaching out and practically snatching it from the beta. Alastair continues in the same calm tone as before, one hand helping steady Castiel’s so he doesn’t spill, “Careful. If you drink too fast, you’ll just throw it all up again. Actually, you should probably wait before you eat any more if you want to keep any of it down.”

Castiel doesn’t respond, he’s just focused on drinking the liquid in the bottle in front of him until his eyes slide over to the doorway and lock onto Dean’s.

Alastair follows his line of sight until he’s looking over his shoulder, and he looks annoyed that Dean’s there. Which only makes Dean feel more unsettled. Alastair is being odd.

Despite it, Dean adds in a light, “Yeah, ‘think the last thing you need right now is a good Heimlich.” And Alastair’s frown deepens slightly at the hint that Dean had been standing there for a while until he turns back to lower the bottle and cap it again.

Castiel has this look in his eye like he’s prepared to fight Alastair if he tries to take it away, so he leaves the water next to him and goes back to sitting on the bed.

 

Dean walks in and takes a place on the floor across from the bed and adjacent to Castiel, rests his elbows on his knees in front of him, and pointedly looks up at the ceiling, ignoring the other two. There’s nothing to do now but wait. If this were during a time that was pre-break out, now would be when they would all awkwardly take out their cell phones and pretend that they had better places to be. But this isn’t pre-break out, or else they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. So instead, Dean sits there and busies himself with thinking about his semi-soft bed that’s calling his name two hallways down.

 

Fifteen minutes pass before boredom begins to strike and Dean feels his gaze being pulled involuntarily down from the ceiling. Alastair is occupied with writing something down in a notebook in front of him. Dean tries to be as casual as possible about it as he looks over to Castiel but as it turns out there’s no reason to be. He’s not paying any attention.

 

Castiel still has his knees bent up in front of him, and his good hand is wrapped around the half-full water bottle cradled in his lap, but his head is slowly bobbing forward and back, eyes half-lidded as he struggles to stay awake. No doubt that having food and water in him after so much excitement probably wasn’t any help to his cause. Every now and then when his head droops too far forward, he’ll shoot back up and shake his head slightly side to side, trying to stave off his exhaustion. Dean does his part to look away whenever Castiel glances at him, and tries not to think about how unthreatening and harmless he looks this way.

 

He’s not going to admit it, even to himself, but Sam’s words may be getting to him. He doesn’t have to be happy about it, but he can’t completely hold it against the Omega for reacting the way he did earlier. Most people were still just struggling to live from day to day; sometimes their camp included. Dean’s thoughts slowly roll to a halt. Omega.

Using the term sounds a bit weird to him, even inside his own head.

He grew up with the word not holding any more meaning to him than the terms Beta or Alpha. And even then, they were words really only used in History classes or in bored off-hand conversations. They didn’t really apply to his generation, especially with his still being so young. They were just categories for everyone to identify themselves as a part of, like boy or girl, except they held even less meaning until you were old enough to start thinking about possibly having a family.

But until then, that was all they were. Words. He knew that the population was split up into one-thirds between the terms, and generations ago being a part of one or another held a lot of significance and could impact someone’s life tremendously. But that was ages ago. Dean never really gave a second thought to any of them, because they never applied directly to his life.

Sure, he knew what the history books said. Or at least, the brief overview that he could get by on in school to pass his tests with. Everyone was taught in school all about the different pheromones, hormones, and instincts that used to influence behaviors on a day-to-day basis. The inborn hierarchy’s that ruled their lives once upon a time. Some called them barbaric, some said that they reduced humanity to nothing more than animal-like beings, and some said that it was the natural way of life and society was playing God by trying to pretend that they could be anything different.

But once again, Dean never really gave a shit about what any of it meant. He left those conversations to the bored morons who got caught up on partaking in philosophical debates.

Yeah, everyone was taught what the differences of being Alpha, Beta, or Omega were, but nobody really had any actual experience with what being one entailed.

To him, and honestly most others around his age, the days of those dynamics felt more like fable tales. Like Hitler, or the Romans, or medieval times. All real events that when told to young eager minds, sounded more like bedtime stories. Of course, it’d be inappropriate to say so out loud, but it didn’t make it any less true. Those things occurred ages in the past, generations before the government took complete control.

See, back when the classifications still mattered, all girls could have babies. It didn’t matter if they were Alphas, Betas, or Omegas. All Omegas could too, whether they were born male or female. And from what Dean understood, that was all fine and dandy for a long, long time. Biologically, it was a perfect system to keep the human race progressing and growing. According to the lessons he was taught, it didn’t do much for intelligence, or technology though, sense a large majority of everyone’s time was caught up in biological rhythms and thinking about ‘mating’ and whatnot. Thought processes were more animalistic, people travelled and stayed in pack-like groups. Omegas had regular heats and oversaw the care of most children, Betas took up a larger portion of the populace and held the middle ground in groups, and Alphas were leaders and fought over territories. And apparently, that took up the majority of everyone’s time and left little space for other area’s of improvement or thought in humanity.

Or at least that’s what they’re told. But he’s not so sure how true those lessons can really be, considering that everyone somehow progressed to the point where they had medicines, hospitals, …entire cities even. Obviously, the differences in classifications didn’t leave them all as the slobbering, blubbering animals that the government wanted them to believe them to be. It all sounded a little ridiculous to him, honestly. Everyone knew that the lessons were exaggerated, but really, who cared enough to find out by how much?

At some point, medicine grew enough that people were more often living long and healthy lives then not. Diseases weren’t such a prevalent issue anymore. Nearly all children were born healthy and lived long into adulthood.

 

But apparently, that’s where everything started to take a wrong turn. With two/thirds of humans successfully childbearing, and less outside forces bearing down on them, seemingly overnight, populations increased exponentially. At some point, there were suddenly too many mouths to feed, too many children running around on the streets, too large of families growing too quickly to properly build housing for. There weren’t enough jobs, wasn’t enough food. Homelessness and malnutrition became a large problem, and the elderly had nowhere to go for care. For quite a few years, it became too out of hand. Society danced on the edge of collapsing in on itself.

 

Dean’s not too sure on all the specifics, Sam knows so much more, but Dean does know that at some point the government took the problem of overpopulation into their own hands. The details of the time period are still somewhat hush-hush, really only still carried on through quiet mouth-to-mouth discussions, but he does know that the female Alphas were the first to be sterilized.

Of course, it’s a matter that the ‘higher-powers’ would like to pretend never happened. It doesn’t exactly paint them in a good light, so it’s predictably a lesson that’s barely even briefed over in schoolings. He doesn’t know how, or what exact methods they used, but group by group, Alphas were forcibly brought into institutions and made infertile. Next were the Betas. People uproared and rioted in protest over the few years it took to complete it, dismayed with their rights being forcibly taken away from them. It was an abomination of a movement, and nobody wanted to stand for it, but it happened too quickly and too swiftly. After it was all said and done, the damage was irreversible, and there was nothing that the people could really do about it anymore. Somehow, someway, whatever changes the government made, they made it hereditary.

They left the Omega’s be as they were, considering that there were plenty of medicines out there to control their heat’s and hormones. The government could suddenly decide when and who could have children. And that’s exactly what they did. They used it to their advantage, tweaking and enhancing their methods as time went on.

 

All the way up to Dean’s generation, water supplies, vaccinations, most public foods, were all pumped through and filtered with suppressants. Medicine to prevent contraception, to stop heat’s from coming, they even went on to halt all the pheromones that Alphas gave off. The senses and instincts eventually went away with them. All in all, everyone eventually smelled and acted the same. If somebody wanted a child, they had to go through structured clinics, and get prescribed dosed foods, waters, and drugs to counterbalance the effects of the ones lacing the city’s supplies. If nobody in a relationship tested as an Omega, then they were referred to adoption agencies and other alternatives to get a kid.

By the time Dean was born, it was all common procedure, and nobody batted an eyelash at any of it. Growing up, Dean couldn’t tell the difference between someone born from one class from another. Yeah, they were tested and told what they were once they entered high school, but only long and well into his high school years, maybe when he was sharing a warm bed with another late at night, if he leaned in real close, and breathed in real deeply, could he sometimes get a slight whiff of a slight difference in someone’s scent.

But that was the extent of it for him. That was practically _everything_ he knew on the subject. And that should have been all he ever really needed to know.

 

Then the Croatoan outbreak happened. For months beforehand, there were hints and murmurs of a strange phenomenon occurring in various areas across the country. Just little rumors spread here and there. Occasional mass stabbings. An increase in deranged mental cases causing trouble in public places. An escalation in sudden street violence. The news medias weren’t reporting on it. There were no announcements made to the public. Everything was fine. Until one day it wasn’t.

One moment on a day like no other, Dean was working on a car in Bobby’s garage, laughing off an embarrassing remark that his coworkers continued to tease him about after his mother had dropped off a surprise packed lunch for him a few hours prior. The next, he was racing his way through the back streets of a panic-stricken town towards Sam’s University in his ’67 Impala, his Father screaming at him on the other line of his cell phone to _hurry up, get Sam, and get the hell out of dodge._

 

Dean shakes his head faintly, willing away his reverie of memories. That’s all besides the point. The fact of it all was, that Dean had never given a second thought to any of the history behind his lineage before it mattered. He never knew or cared what classification his friends were in, and he certainly hadn’t given a rat’s ass when he was told that he tested positive as an Alpha.

 

Then, two months after the world decided to take an unplanned vacation in God’s favorite meat-grinder, he began to smell things. Everyone did. It was gradual at first. He noticed the slight burning of the small rabbit roasting over the late night fire, the dew of the morning grass he trekked across when taking his first piss of the day, and the aroma of decaying flesh that seemed to layer over all the distant towns he found himself crossing paths with.

Then came the scent of charged air in the sky, a day or two before a storm would cover everything in dark and rage havoc upon them. The barely-there freshness when they neared a running creek. Then he started to smell the people he was travelling with. By this time, he had found Sam again, and the beginnings of the camp he sat in now were being created. It was subtle, he wasn’t smelling the usual stank of sweat and body odor that he was used to. He could _distinguish_ between one person from another without looking.

It only took a few days after somebody had brought the subject up, forcing everyone to voice their concerns, and reveling in the fact that it was a joint experience, and nobody was going crazy, to realize that the separate smells mostly leaned on whether someone was born Alpha, Beta, or Omega. It was a cool realization. It kind of helped take away the ‘alone’ feeling that they were all experiencing. After that, Dean got over feeling weird about it. So they had a clearer sense of smell, so what?

 

And life continued on. Rather, their new version of life did. People stuck to groups. They travelled for a while. As desperation kicked in, some people left groups and joined others. Groups turned into makeshift camped settlements. Some died. Some lived.

 

Dean can’t remember who the first person to say something was. It was an offhand comment made three or four more months down the road.

_“Is it just me, or is there something missing lately?”_

It took over a week for Sam to suddenly patch it together.

There were no longer any Omega’s among them. It had been gradual, and there was a big chance that it was just coincidence, but they were gone. Not really as in they disappeared, but more like they just happened to, as a group, pull the short end of the stick. Amongst all of the running and fighting, people met their ends, and without anyone even realizing it, they vanished. Dead or left to join other encampments, no more Omega’s resided amongst them.

At the insistence of some, they kept a wary eye out after that. Made sure to ask ‘out of curiosity’ whenever they came across peaceful stragglers, if there were any Omegas among them, but it didn’t seem to be an isolated incident. And some time later, foreign groups started taking offense to the question. Once again, it took awhile before anyone figured out why, and then his camp stopped asking.

The next time anybody came across an Omega, was when they picked up Madison and Brady. They were well into eight months after breakout by then and she had quite the surprise held up her sleeve.

“Dean.”

She had been skittish, and Brady even more so, but they were nice people.

“Dean.”

He wished that he’d taken more of an interest in her, like Sam had. Most everyone, himself included, were just trying to give her space after her loss. If he’d known that her time was coming, and that she’d be the last Omega he’d see for over a year, he probably would have gone more out of his way to watch out for her. Does having an extra reason to want to do so make him a bad person?

 _“Dean!”_ The hiss and an abrupt kick to his leg has him shooting up in alarm, blinking with wide eyes up at the disapproving concern his brother is shooting at him.

“What?!” Fuck, he’d accidently drifted off.

“Shh.” Sam hushes him. Dean looks over and whoa when did they come in?

“What did I miss?”

“Dean, _Shut up._ ”

 

Bobby and Ellen are talking to Cas, Ellen crouched down by him, Bobby standing disgruntled to the side with arms crossed. Alastair’s still just chilling in the background, and Gordon’s there again, looking positively displeased. Dean takes Sam’s lead, brushes off the dredges of his impromptu nap, and tries to focus on what’s being said.

“I understand, but some of us here just don’t feel real comfortable letting you walk right out of here. We’ll get it sorted out.” Ellen has her stern I’m-not-budging-on-this look on her face.

Dean let’s out a silent whistle. Castiel looks like a walking spokesperson for morgues.

“I promise. You having nothing to worry about-“

Bobby cuts him off with a shake of his head. “We don’t know you. Your word doesn’t mean jack-squat here. What’s to keep you from just returning with your camp, with weapons, and causing up an even bigger ruckus?”

Castiel sighs, looking up at the ceiling helplessly. Even someone as blind as a bat wouldn’t be able to miss the exhaustion marring his features. “Then I don’t understand what exactly you are proposing. You’re going to let me live, but you aren’t going to let me leave?” His jaw ticks and he looks down at Ellen, barely managing to put some hardness to his features. “I won’t be held prisoner here. I refuse to.”

Gordon snorts, “As if we’d want you as one. They’re talking about a few days where you sit tight, and we try to ignore the fact that you fucked up my hand.”

Castiel’s glare is somehow vicious, “You were attempting to break my neck.”

Sam physically puts himself as a barrier in front of Gordon, who angrily spits out over his brother’s shoulder, “And now I’m attempting to not shoot your fucking face in.” Dean’s surprised. Gordon’s always had a short temper, but today has to be some type of record. He’s snappier than Ruby when she’s on the rag.

“Gordon, get out!” As soon as Ellen heatedly shouts, the lights flicker.

Nobody really pays it any attention, being used to it, except for Castiel, who Dean see’s flinch and shoot wide eye’s up at the over lights when they go a second time.

 

“Calm down, Cas.” Dean can barely be heard over Ellen and Gordon arguing with each other as Sam tries to gently usher Gordon to the doorway.

The lights shut off, covering them in pitch darkness. Dean only hears Castiel scrabbling on the ground because he’s listening for it. He makes his way over and reaches out amongst the commotion, trying to calm him down. His hand connects with something and there’s a muffled pained yelp when he grasps it. Something connects with his chin.

“Ouch, Fuck! Would you-Just--” Dean grabs what he thinks is Castiel’s flailing arm and holds it tight. “Calm down! They’ll be back on in-”

The lights flicker on, much dimmer this time. “…In a second.” He’s indeed holding Castiel’s fist in the meat of his palm, his other hand is clasped around the shoulder of his injured arm. Dean lets it go with a quick apology.

 

Castiel’s glaring up at him, breathing hard while he lays half on his side.

“What are you doing?”

“What am I?- Dude, you just punched me!“

Ellen slams the door, officially locking Gordon out.

Dean sighs and points a lazy hand up to the ceiling. “Those were the daylights shutting off. They were supposed to go out hours ago but _somebody_ put us on high alert.” He backs up and plants himself back on the ground a few feet away, giving the startled man space. Castiel watches him, then slowly fumbles his way back up into a sitting position.

 

“Alright, look.” Ellen huffs. She is about ten minutes over being done with this. “We could just end this whole debacle right now and be done with it, but the way we’d go about doing it won’t make anyone happy. Except for maybe that bastard out there.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder. “We’re expecting one of our jeeps to return in two or three days with some of our more…capable troops. When they come, we’ll have another vehicle, more supplies, and we’ll be much more comfortable getting a convoy put together and escorting you to your camp.”

Cas goes to interrupt but Ellen just shoots up a finger warningly, stopping him. “Or somewhere by your camp, or _wherever._ I truthfully don’t care. Point is, we’ll get you away from here.”

Sam pipes up timidly behind her, “Besides, it’ll give you some time to heal yourself up. Even if you were to leave right now, you’d probably be dead within a day with those injuries, especially on your own.”

Castiel looks like he’s resigning himself, but even so, still mutters, “I’d be willing to take my chances.” Dean groans. This guy is more stubborn than a mule going through a mid-life crises.

“Yeah, well, that’s not an option.” Dean’s pretty much picked up where Ellen and Bobby are going with this. “So how ‘bout it? A day or two where you behave yourself, don’t give us any reasons to kill you, and then we can all go our merry separate ways and pretend this never happened.” He matches Castiel’s squinty glare with an obnoxiously cheeky grin, which makes his glare just get more squinty-er.

Castiel obviously isn’t happy with it, but he doesn’t have any other options, so expectedly, he reluctantly agrees.

 

 

“So, who’s staying with him?”

Bobby, Ellen, Sam, Dean, and the ever-quiet Alastair, are half huddled on the other side of the room. Bobby looks like the only reason he’s still there is because Ellen’s making him and Dean’s mentally digging a grave, because he already knows where they’re about to stick him.

“I guess I-”

“No Sam, you can’t.” Dean’s not going to let him even finish forming that thought. No way was he leaving Sammy in the same room as the guy who’d tried to slit his throat just a few hours prior.

“Guess that just leaves me or him.” Alastair finally speaks up, lifting a shoulder in Dean’s direction. Alastair looks like he’s barely holding himself back from volunteering for the job, and all it does is make Dean want to make sure that he doesn’t get it.

“Whatever. I’ll do it.” Might as well, since it’s going to happen anyways.

Four pairs of eye’s are staring at him in varying levels of doubt.

“What?”

“If you’re not up to it, I don’t mind-”

Yeah, see? Alastair _politely_ taking one for the team? The douche is up to something. “Nah, I’ll cover tonight. Somebody take over for me tomorrow morning. ‘Besides, don’t you need to go prep everything for when Azazel gets back? Put on some chap stick for all that ass-kissing you’ll be doing?”

Sam snorts, even as he shakes his head disapprovingly.

Alastair is glaring daggers. “Suit yourself.” Is all he says and then he’s out the door. Dean’s honestly surprised. No slimy comeback? Witty remark? Nothing?

Ellen ignores the interaction, rolling her eyes, “You’re sure you’re okay with this? You were at his throat earlier, I’m not going to come back to a dead body tomorrow morning am I?”

 

“It’ll be fine, Ellen. As long as he doesn’t try anything.” He looks back but Castiel is still just sitting placidly on the floor, good hand now loosely holding his bad arm to his side.

“Alright.” She still sounds unsure, but she’s not going to fight it. Bobby just nods at him and turns to leave. “I’ll have somebody swing by in the morning to switch with you. Be careful.”

It’s not really necessary with how out-of-it Castiel seems now, but then again, he was unconscious when they first brought him in. “I will.”

 

Sam hangs back for a second. “I’ll get you some sheet’s down from laundry. You want anything else?” Dean shrugs in answer. It’s only one night. Sam nods slowly, like he’s waiting for Dean to change his mind but somebody has to do it, he claps a hand on his shoulder before he turns and leaves too.

 

Dean sighs and lets his head fall back where he stands. It has been one long fucking day. He’s had much worse, but today’s is definitely up there.

 

This is the first time he’s been alone with the newcomer and Dean glances at him, folding his arms above his head, stretching. “So…”

Castiel sluggishly opens his eyes and stares back at him. Dean hums.

“Want to fight for the bed?”

He grins at his own joke, but his smile falters at that unchanging stare.

“I told you, I am not getting on that bed.”

 

“What’s wrong with the bed?” Dean frowns. He get’s that Castiel was being a hard-headed ass before, but certainly he could let up now? “What, it’s not up to your standards? Too used to the high-end comfort the city had to offer?”

The sarcasm doesn’t seem to impress him. “It stinks.”

“Excuse me?”

“The bed.” This time it looks like Castiel’s the one trying to decide if Dean’s a few tools short of a full shed. “Its stench is overbearing. I’ll stay on the floor, thank you.”

“The bed doesn’t stink.” Just for emphasis Dean walks over, picks up one of the blankets and sniffs it. “It smells fine, what are you talking about?”

Castiel’s eyes furrow, “You don’t smell it?”

“Smell what!?”

 

He huffs and averts his eyes from Dean’s. Dean perks up. What’s this about?

“I suppose it makes sense that you wouldn’t smell it. It…stinks of Alpha.” Castiel’s face scrunches up a miniscule amount on the last word, like he didn’t want to say it aloud. “It’s unpleasant.”

 

Dean drops the blanket and looks down at the bed, covered in pillows and a few sheets that his fellow campmates had brought in earlier, probably from their own rooms. “Oh.” He looks back down at… the Omega, and _okay then._ He hadn’t even given a single thought to that. Does he smell things differently to Dean? Or is it because Dean’s been surrounded with nothing but Alpha’s and Beta’s for so long that he doesn’t even notice the scents anymore?

Also, that means that maybe Dean was being a teeny bit of a dick earlier, but he’s not going to let himself get hung up on it. “My brother’s bringing some new sheets back. If it’s really that much of a problem for you, then sure, no problem, you can sleep on the floor.” He shrugs. No sweat off his back. “We have cot’s somewhere but they’d be back in inventory and it’s near impossible to get to them after they shut the lights out.” The night-time lights are on, and they do a piss-poor job of illuminating the room, much less the large inventory storage room.

 

Castiel nods absentmindedly. After a minute he looks up at him, “So you’re staying in here with me tonight?”

“Yep.”

Castiel tilts his head barely, “Why? Can’t you just lock the door?”

Dean snorts, “Why? So you can just pick the shitty lock and burn us down to the ground? No thanks.”

Castiel doesn’t respond. He just sits there _staring_ at Dean with pursed lips. Dean yawns. An awkward minute passes where neither of them say anything, but the dude just won’t look away, so Dean decides to break the silence. He steps forward and squats down in front of him, “Let’s try this again.” He stretches out a hand. “Hi, I’m Dean Winchester.”

Castiel’s head tilts even more slightly, his face says that he thinks that this is completely redundant and pointless, but still he seems to humor him. He hesitantly puts his hand in Dean’s. “Castiel.” He’s mildly impressed by the firm handshake the other manages to give.

Dean’s being extremely civil right now. His anger’s drained away with all of his energy and now he’s just so damn tired. Maybe he’ll be pissed at the guy again in the morning but for right now everything’s finally calm and quiet. Trying to make the best out of the shitty situation, Dean continues to keep his mood light, and hospitably offers “Alright Cas, guess we should go get you cleaned up before you pass out again. I can bring you to the showers or I can try to get a wash bucket in here.”

“That’s very nice of you, but if it’s all the same, I’d much rather wait until the morning.” He suddenly squints, a little life flashing back into those dead-tired blue eyes. “And you called me that earlier. My name is Castiel.”

 

Dean rolls his. “Yeah, well, _Castiel,_ your name is a mouthful. Your parents weren’t doing you any favors with that one.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dean wants to reel them back in. It’s just not a good idea now-a-days to mention parents, or family in general. He continues, hoping that his pause wasn’t noticeable, “Besides, you sure you don’t want a wash first? I wouldn’t be surprised if your skin rots off your bones in the middle of the night.”

 

Castiel grimaces, “While that imagery is very lovely, I doubt one more night without a shower will kill me.” He suddenly blinks and yawns, turning his head into his shoulder instead of letting go of his injured arm to cover his mouth.

 

He’s too tired to wash himself off and doesn’t want to admit it. Okay, fine. “Whatever you say, Cas.” Dean goes and flops himself up on the bed. No reason to waste a perfectly good mattress just because his highness has a delicate nose.

 

“My name is Castiel.”

Dean snorts. “You got it, Cas.”

 

 

It’s only a few minutes later that Dean finds himself watching as Castiel’s chin once again slowly falls to his chest. For some reason, he’s doing that thing again where he’s trying desperately to stay awake despite his body’s obviously exhausted state. He doesn’t get why he’s fighting it, but it’s pretty amusing to watch him gradually lose the battle. Finally, Castiel slumps over, body going limp. Dean shakes his head.


	5. Day One: Nothing to do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big special thanks to Kikiarty for offering to Beta, and for listening to my endless complaining. :)

 

 

 

X

 

  
When Castiel awakes hours later, he’s instantly attacked with the familiar sensation of paranoia and panic that’s become routine for him. Where had he fallen asleep Is he safe? Why did he wake up? Is he under attack? It takes a few seconds of dazedly gathering his surroundings and some deep measured breaths before he recounts the events of the day before and convinces his body to calm down.

Damn, he’d fallen asleep. He knew that in the end, trying to stay awake would be futile, but he hadn’t wanted to go under, making himself vulnerable to the people who had just decided that they weren’t prepared to kill him. And it had been a deep sleep too. His brain still feels foggy as he groggily glances around himself. He feels as if he could hibernate for the next week straight if he wanted to. Maybe when he left here, if this camp kept their word, he would be able to find a safe spot and do exactly that.

Castiel groans, rolling over from being on his side to lie flat on his back. He’s sore. Not the body tingling, anxiety-inducing sore that he’d experienced the day before where his body felt like it was on the verge of collapsing in on itself, but rather a bone-deep, after-ache that soaks through his skin but is still somewhat bearable. However, now that the overall immediate ache has slightly lessoned, it’s also accumulated to specific areas. His legs burn, and now his left arm pinches in pain. Last night, by the time that Jess girl had patched him up, his whole arm had almost gone numb, whether from blood loss or overall exhaustion, he wasn’t sure, but now with some rest, the skin around the injury has reawakened with a viable sting. He still can’t quite believe that he’d been shot. It was an experience that he’d hoped he could go through the rest of his life without having.

Castiel blinks. There’s a flat pillow underneath his head. That hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep. There’s also a white sheet bunched up against his side and another half covering him. They smell clean, though there’s still an uncomfortable underlying aroma about them. Like they’ve been soaked in someone’s natural scent and no matter how many times they’re washed, it can’t completely be removed. The softness is still nice though. In fact, this is probably the most comfortable Castiel has been in weeks.

Someone must have covered him in them last night, and his immediate assumption is that it was Dean, since he was the only one left with him. He slowly gets his good elbow under him so that he can glance up at the bed. It’s empty. Dean is nowhere to be found.

That’s surprising. He was under the impression that he wasn’t to be left alone for the duration of time he was stuck there. Maybe they had changed their minds and decided a locked door would be secure enough to keep him from causing any trouble. Which in truth, would be. But Castiel’s not about to tell them that he doesn’t have a clue when it comes to picking locks. He’s perfectly fine with letting them continue to believe that he’s some kind of escape artist. The more capable he appears, the less likely they are to think they can overpower him.

He also feels disgusting. It was easy enough to ignore his own personal filth when all he could think of was how fatigued he was, but now the dried dirt, blood, and sweat feel like an extra blanket coating his skin. He’s almost glad that he hasn’t brushed his teeth in weeks because it just makes it that much harder to smell his own body odor.

The bathroom door knocks open, and Dean comes out, the sound of the toilet flushing behind him. Oh. So he hadn’t been left alone.

“Well, good morning, sunshine.” Dean’s tone of voice doesn’t match the pleasantry of his words, but even so, he doesn’t sound as irritated as he had when Castiel had first met him.

So, haltingly, Castiel returns a muted “Good morning.” His voice, now also tainted with sleep, cracks with the hoarseness of it.

 

Dean snorts, shakes his head, and walks over to the bed and starts folding the sheets on it. “Good thing you’re up, I was preparing to dump water on your ass.” Castiel isn’t sure how to react with the others sudden presence, still taken a little aback with being in someone’s company. Dean glances back at him and gives a nod, “Start getting up, would ya? I’m gunna take you to the showers. You smell like a drowned sewer rat.”

Castiel frowns, but he doesn’t want to start any arguments, so he begrudgingly tries sitting up. It takes a lot more effort than it really should, and he can’t help the groans of discomfort that fall from his mouth as he does so, but eventually he gets his feet under him. By then, Dean has finished and is leaning against the bed, arms crossed, watching him. He holds out the plastic bottle that had gone missing from Castiel’s side. “Here.” He’s refilled it.

Castiel nods his thanks and takes it. He takes a few sips and gingerly sets it back down by the wall. He realizes that he needs to urinate, but before he can think about asking, Dean’s nodding to the door. “Come on.”

He sighs, but follows him, pushing lightly off the wall behind him. It’s still nearly dark all around them. There are no windows and it’s only Castiel’s biological clock that tells him it must be sometime in the morning. As he passes Dean, who’s patiently holding the door open for him, he asks “These are still your… nightlights? When do your daylights come on?” the terms are odd to him, but he guesses that they are ones that the camp has adopted.

“Usually around seven or eight. It’s whenever whoevers on duty wakes up. It’s only about 6:30 now.” Dean joins him out in the hall. There’s nobody else in sight and the hallway seems even more ominous now, when it’s caked in a mute darkness. Every fourth light overhead is barely glowing dimly, and the area is silent, no extra mums of noises come from the closed doors on either side like they had yesterday. That doesn’t stop Dean from loudly announcing, “Trust me, I don’t enjoy waking up at the ass-crack of dawn anymore then the next guy,” They start slowly making their way down the opposite way Castiel had taken the day before. Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets and scrunches his face up towards the ceiling while he walks, “But I can feel your stank getting on me, and let me tell you, it is not pleasant.”

 

Castiel hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t deem it necessary to respond.

 

They continue on in silence. Castiel’s steps are slow and calculated, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind the slow steady pace. Every now and then he points the way ahead of them, but mostly stays a step or two behind him, making sure Castiel doesn’t stray from his line of sight. Castiel can tell from the way Dean shifts and keeps subtly glancing around, that the air is awkward and tense between them. It’s rightfully so, considering that neither of them want to be there. Castiel vaguely wonders why Dean was the one left with him, when, besides Gordon, he’d also been the one most volatile towards him.

Dean clears his throat gently a few times, like there’s an inner itch he’s trying to scratch. He manages the silence for a few more minutes, listening to their slow heavy footfalls on the tiled floor, until eventually Dean shoots in an overly nonchalant manner, “So, What did Alastair say to you yesterday?”

Castiel sideway glances at him. “What?

“Alastair. Err, quiet guy, gave you that sandwich last night. What did you guys talk about?”

Castiel’s eyebrows draw together. “Why?”

Dean’s shoulders sag and he rolls his eyes, “Dude, _come on_. You allergic to straight answers or something?”

“No.”

Dean’s staring at him. He absently notices that in the dim lighting, Dean's blonde undertones in his hair are gone, making it look brown. He bears a much larger resemblance to his brother this way. Another slow step echos in the hallway before he lifts his good shoulder in a small shrug. “He asked me if I was alright, said that he doubted your camp would decide to kill me, and then he offered me food. Is that a crime here?”

Now Dean’s softly glaring at him. “Of course not. Is that all he said?”

Castiel’s a little confused. “Yes. Why?”

Dean purses his lips and looks away. “Nothing, never mind.”

They take another turn. He doesn’t think they’ve traveled far. He wonders what kind of building they’re in. “We are underground.” Dean nods. It’s an obvious observation. There are no windows, and he can’t see any extra light peeking from underneath the doors around them. The air feels a little stale, but not overly so. They must have a few exits leading outside that they use often, if the air circulates this well. Or an air system, but he doubts that since they’re saving energy by turning the lights down. He wants to know where the exits are, and where exactly this camp is located, but the people here are already worried about him returning after he leaves, and he doesn’t think Dean would really appreciate him asking.

He’s still concerned that they might be trying to deceive him. Ellen, the woman who seemed to be mainly in charge here, had repeatedly told him that they were willing to put what had happened behind them, if he was willing to wait the two or three days it would take for another group of their members to return. Which is awfully charitable of them. Maybe a little too charitable.

He doesn’t trust them and he certainly isn’t inclined to be friendly with the man walking next to him. His first fear when they had offered him the option had been that this additional group they were waiting for didn’t even exist and they were making it all up. Maybe they’re trying to keep him calm and complacent for the time being. He doesn’t see how that would really work in the long run though, because no matter how they act towards him now, the second they even hint at telling him falsities about being allowed to leave, he’ll fight back. If an opportunity to escape reveals itself before their ‘convoy’ arrives, he’ll take it and run.

He’s been told all his life that he’s much too trusting of the people around him, and he’d never been very troubled with worry over the thought of other camps before he’d found himself without one. Not anymore though. He’s a quick learner and he won’t make the same mistake twice. He’d been surprised that they had given him a way out at all, but he’ll go along with their offer as long as it’s his best means to making it out alive.

As they walk, he doesn’t necessarily have to, but he finds himself holding his arm securely to his side. It hurts tremendously when he accidentally tries to use it out of instinct, or it swings the wrong way, so it’s just easier to keep it in place.

Dean glances at him for a minute. He thinks that Dean is mentally debating on whether or not to try talking to him. He gets the feeling that Dean is the type of person who doesn’t really enjoy silences.

Sure enough a few seconds later, “How bad does your arm hurt?”

Castiel takes a moment, pretending to appraise it. “It aches some. And it’s sore, but it’s bearable.” In actuality, it _throbs._ But he didn’t lie, it is bearable. It’s a much more preferred feeling to how his entire body had felt the day before. He doesn’t ever want to let himself get to that state again. He also doesn’t want this Dean, this _Alpha,_ to think he’s any weaker than he has to.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Dean puts his hands in his back pocket and cocks his head to the side, a small grin in place, “Well, actually I’m not really sorry about that. I’m sorry that it had _to come_ to that.”

Castiel stares at him, lips pressed in a firm line. For some reason, the forced casualness of his posture makes it seem more like an assertion of power than anything. There’s an underlying threat in the sharpness of his eyes and the angle of his grin, something along the lines of _give me a reason, and I’ll do it again. I’ll do it even worse._ This Dean obviously doesn’t trust him either. He had grinned in a somewhat similar manner a few times the night before, and it makes Castiel wonder if he even realizes that he’s doing it.

Castiel frowns at him, not acquiescing to the threat, but not planning on instigating it any farther. Instead, all he says is a tight, quipped, “I understand.” His expression, however, says _next time, you won’t get the chance._ He’s not going to back down to anyone here, no matter the state he’s in.

Dean looks away, not acknowledging Castiel’s hard look. “Well, I can look around, see if I can’t dig up some Ibuprofen for it or something.”

“That would be greatly appreciated.”

Dean snorts, but Castiel doesn’t see what’s humorous. They take a final turn and Dean steps in front of him, pushing open a door. It leads into a communal type of bathroom. There are three sinks on a counter in front of him and to his left there are two bathroom stalls, and just past those, is a short four-foot hallway that leads to what he can see is a multi-person shower stall.

“What was this building used for before you moved into it?”

Dean shrugs in answer and bends down, opening a cabinet under the sinks and pulls out a washcloth, a large bar of soap, and a small yellow bottle of what Castiel assumes is shampoo. It looks like the cheap kind that hotels used to leave out for their guests.

“Here. They left these in here for you. Just put them back here when you’re done. Nobody else will want to steal them. Probably.” Castiel has to let go of his arm to quickly try and balance all three items in one arm when the other man nearly dumps them on him.

Dean bends down again and then he pulls out a roll of clear plastic wrap and black electrical tape. Dean leans back, resting his butt against the edge of the counter and gives him a look. Castiel doesn’t understand what they’re supposed to be for, and he’s about to ask when Dean grabs him by the front of his black shirt and yanks him forward.

“What?!-”

 

Dean doesn’t answer him, instead pulls some of the plastic from the roll, grabs Castiel’s arm by the elbow, raises it, and then starts wrapping it around where his bandages lay. Castiel’s first instinctual reaction is to shove at him or to pull away, but with his good arm full and his bad arm being held firmly in place, all it does it earn him a jolt of pain to race through his shoulder. He hisses and stills, clenching his eyes shut.

 

“Shit. Sorry.” He squints open one eye and glances at Dean, who actually looks a little apologetic. “Didn’t mean to make it hurt. I just…” He motions his hand holding the plastic wrap, “You have to wrap it up before you get it wet.” Castiel doesn’t notice how as soon as the words leave his mouth Dean’s eyes widen the slightest bit and a light blush covers his cheeks.

 

Castiel takes a deep breath through his nose to calm his nerves before he speaks. “Yes, I realize that now.” He’s gritting his teeth and he knows he sounds angry, but he kind of actually is. “A little forewarning would have been nice. Next time, you could perhaps maybe just ask me instead of resorting to manhandling.”

 

Dean stares at where he’s awkwardly holding Castiel’s arm outstretched for a second before he just shrugs, “Yeah” is all he says, then continues to wrap the plastic around his arm. Castiel forces his shoulders to relax the smallest bit from their tense position. Dean rips the plastic from the roll and folds the end over itself, the material nearly perfectly fitting the contrasting whiteness of where Jess had scrubbed the dirt and blood clean from his arm.

 

Dean grabs the tape, pulls some out, and uses his teeth to tear it away. “Sorry about the kitchenware, but it’s the best we’ve got right now.” He fastens the tape around the edge of the wrap, making it watertight.

Castiel appraises it, looking down at him. “It’s alright. That is actually… quite clever. I never would have considered using plastic wrap for that purpose.”

 

Dean crooks an eyebrow up at him from where he’s wrapping the bottom part, “Really? It’s, uh, it’s always been kind of a common practice. Even before break out.” His eyes are a dark hunter green in the dim lighting.

 

Castiel hums. “Oh.” He’d never had to worry about wrapping an injury before showering before, so the thought had never crossed his mind.

Dean absentmindedly pats the bandage when he’s done, and then flinches back when Castiel yanks his arm back with a quiet pained snarl. He all but misses Dean’s quick quipped ‘sorry’. Dean rubs at the back of his neck, and this time Castiel does spot the embarrassed pink tinge on his cheeks. Honestly, why would Dean ever think that was a good idea?

He stands there, gripping his arm to his side tightly now with a mistrustful glare towards Dean, shower items lying forgotten and strewn across the floor.

“Sorry.” Dean laments again, looking down at the floor. “Um, well…” He stands up straight from sitting against the counter, and then stills when Castiel doesn’t back up, resulting in them standing a few inches away from each other. “Uh.” They stand there awkwardly, Dean looking more and more uncomfortable until eventually he decides to sidestep around him. In some back corner of his mind, Castiel finds himself pleased with the action.

“Well, Cas, I guess I’ll leave you to it. I’m assuming you can handle it from here?” He takes another step backwards towards the door, looking at him expectantly. Castiel doesn’t bother commenting on the nickname this time. Dean remains stubborn on using it, no matter how many times Castiel corrects him.

“Yes, I’m sure I can manage. You will stay outside while I wash?”

Dean looks him up and down, lips pursed. “Yeah, no problem. You’re not going to try anything funny, right?”

Castiel pointedly looks around them at the bare bathroom walls, “What could I possibly ‘try’ while in here?”

Dean rolls his eyes, a motion Castiel almost misses with the distance between them in the darkened room. “Yeah, right. Well, I’m just saying. Try not to take too long, others will be up soon and this bathroom gets crowded fast.” He points both fingers towards the door, even as he starts to exit through it, “Remember, I’ll be right outside.” Castiel almost rolls his own eyes in reply.

As soon as the door closes, Castiel looks around and spots a large trash bin sitting by the stalls. He grabs it and quietly sets it up against the door. It won’t really keep anyone out, but at least he’ll hopefully hear if anyone tries coming in.

 

He feels odd, suddenly standing alone in the darkened quiet bathroom by himself. The quiet is a little unsettling, especially with the commotion he’d become accustomed to while in the city.

In there, silence had meant a small break, with every breath being measured and adjusted in hopes of not being heard. Silence meant a small sparse moment to cherish before turmoil crashed down again. He had almost forgotten how it felt to stand still and not worry about Croatoans finding and hurtling towards him at any given second. The calmness in itself was a feeling that made him miss his camp.

Suddenly, his skin feels itchy and restless. He checks again that the trash bin is pushed flush against the door and then goes to turn on the shower.

It takes a few awkward twists of the knobs before he figures out how they work, and then he goes back and picks up the forgotten items on the floor while it sets to warm up. Shuffling out of his shirt was admittedly a much more difficult task than he thought it would be, unbuttoning his pants was even more so. He gingerly tries using his injured arm to help ease the button of his jeans open, but every twitch of his muscles on that side sends a small jolt of ache down the limb. He sighs in relief when, finally, he manages to shuffle the denim down over his hips to pool at his feet.

He looks back towards the closed door one more time, telling himself that he was justified and it wasn’t paranoia, before dropping his boxer briefs into the pile and stepping into the stream of water.

 

It's euphoric. Castiel could have wept in joy at luke-warm water that pours over his head. The shower doesn't really seem capable of producing anything heated, but the cool fresh sensation of weeks of grime being rinsed away is plenty enough relief for him. For a split second, when the stream presses against his forehead, the droplets caress their way down his skin, and he can actually physically _feel_ a clump of oil, dirt, and blood fall from his hair, he almost considers being shot worth it.

 

He stands there, motionless and tranquil underneath the steady stream for probably much longer then what this camp would consider necessary. It's only when he suddenly hears a background hum start up and then the lights flicker once, twice, then shine brightly, nearly blinding him, that he decides to get a move on.

He grabs the washcloth, rubbing hard and quick at everywhere he can reach, only moving softer when he accidentally brushes over a few painful cuts and bruises. He can see now he has several more injuries then what he can remember accounting for. He knew that most of them were actually from falling into hard surfaces instead of actual close encounters with a Croat’s blade, but he could now clearly understand why some would be worried that he’d been infected. Honestly, he knew that he was extremely lucky not to be. Too many excessive close calls for even him to be comfortable with.

 

Two nicks on his shin and low on his hip have an odd coloring to them, and he fears that perhaps Jess was right. How awful would it be to succumb from a normal infection that could have been avoided, after he’d spent so long valiantly avoiding the virus? Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could talk the camp into giving him some antibiotics before he left. That Jess girl seemed nice enough. Maybe it wouldn’t be that far of a stretch.

There’s a large smattering of yellow and purple bruises layering over his right hip, more continue up his stomach and to his rib area. He faintly remembers accidentally slamming against the front hood of an SUV when he’d taken a turn to fast with somebody too close on his heels. He doesn’t so much remember the pain of the hit, but more of the force and how it had knocked the wind from his lungs. He had continued running, immediately putting the blow in the back of his mind to worry over at a later time.

 

Well, it seems ‘later’ is now. At least that seems to be the worst of his injuries, besides, …well, his bullet wound. 

He repeats the wash process a bit more delicately. He can’t remember if he’s supposed to put normal soap on open wounds. It stings to, but he also remembers Anna telling him over the phone when they were young that if a cut stung when washing, it was just the soap killing all of the bacteria. He figures, what is the worst it could do?

He carefully sits down on the tiled floor, water pushing against his shoulder blades, so that he can gives his legs the rest they deserve.

He finally decides to just move on, and is in the middle of lathering his hair with the lemon-scented shampoo one-handedly when he hears the door slightly thwack open and the trash bin scrape across the floor.

“What the…”

Castiel scrambles, slipping three separate times in his haste to stand up.

“Oh.” Sam looks around from where he’s half standing through the doorway. “Uh, sorry.” He glances at the bin at his feet, understanding crossing his face and then gives Castiel a sheepish look.

Castiel himself is curled around the corner of the shower wall, all but his soapy wet head out of sight. His hands grip the wall frame tight and he can’t help noticing how _large_ and… intimidating the other man suddenly looks again. His dirty clothes lay three feet out of reach and now the only thing at arms length is a bar of soap and a half empty shampoo bottle. He’s exposed. He feels vulnerable.

They both stand there for a few seconds, Sam seeming at a loss for words.

“Yes?” He tries to aim his voice for annoyance instead of the panic racing up his spine. “Do you need something?”

“Uh, oh! Right!” Sam comes out of his stupor. “Well, I’m about to switch off with Dean, and he said that he forgot that you don’t have a towel, so we, uh…” Sam twists his body so he can fit his other hand over his head and through the doorway, instead of pushing the door open any wider, much to Castiel’s relief. He holds a folded cloth. “Got you a towel. So, there’s that. And, um..” Sam clumsily throws it towards the sink counter with one hand. Then he’s looking behind him outside the door again, searching for something and Castiel suddenly realizes how ridiculous the situation seems.

They are two fully grown, albeit one much more so, men, standing on either side of a room, both awkwardly poking their heads around adjacent wall corners. If he weren’t so nervous, Castiel would laugh at the silliness of it.

Sam murmurs something to whoever’s standing behind him outside and suddenly Castiel hears a loud “Oh for fuck's sake, Sammy!” And Sam's shoved to the side, the garbage bin kicking harshly out of the way as Dean stomps past him into the room. Castiel’s grip on the wall corner goes white-knuckled and he sucks in a calming breath. He ducks his head further out of sight instinctively. Dean glowers his way until their eyes meet and then he momentarily stills, eyes going wide.

Castiel doesn’t have a clue to as why they look surprised. _What did they think he’d be doing?_

Dean quickly recovers, eyes blinking rapidly. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at him “ _Somebody_ figured you’d need clean clothes, so…” He stomps over and flops some more folded white materials onto the counter, sounding completely exasperated with everything. “There you go. One size fits all. Enjoy. Bon appétit.”

Castiel’s unease is momentarily dulled by his confusion of that particular phrase used when no food was involved. It returns just as quick though when Dean turns back to him, flipping a hand in his general direction, “And hurry your ass up, would ya?! People who actually live here would like to use the bathroom too, you know.” Dean turns to leave, and he would have pulled off an excellent air of nonchalance, if it weren’t for him tripping over his own foot, causing him to slightly stumble on his way out.

Sam snorts loudly from his spot by the doorframe, and Castiel can hear Dean call out a distant, “Fuck off, bitch!” even as his voice fades.

Sam stays there for a moment, smirking at what Castiel assumes is the retreating back of his brother before he glances back and nods towards him. “I’ll keep everyone out while you finish up, but pick up the pace, okay?”

Finally, thankfully, the door swings shut again. He hurries back under the shower stream and he’s lucky that he hadn’t managed to get any soap in his eyes during that whole debacle. He rinses himself off one last time, relishing the last few seconds of the shower, and then turns it off.

He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and quickly shoots forward, grabbing everything they’d just left for him in his good hand and slinks back to the shower stall before he can worry that the bin is no longer in place.

He’ll have to thank them for the clothes. He was really dreading having to put back on the dirty soiled rags he’d been wearing before. Even his red and blue jacket that had some point disappeared while his arm was checked out the night before had run its course.

They’ve given him what looks like matching plain white hospital scrubs. They’re thicker though, more durable. He’s not sure how he feels about the outfit, but they’re easy enough to slip on with his injured arm. He momentarily debates putting back on his boxer briefs, but quickly decides he’d rather go without. Hopefully the scrubs are soft enough that he won’t have to worry about chafing. With a grimace, he toes on his tattered and worn down sneakers, not willing to leave them behind.

 

Castiel towels his hair dry, walking back towards the sink counter. He feels indescribably better. He sort of regrets not taking Dean’s advice and showering the night before instead. He glances at himself in the mirror and freezes.

Before, it had been too dark for him to see his reflection, but now there’s no such problem. No, now he wishes the lights were turned back off, the fresh feeling he’d just had souring a bit inside his stomach.

It couldn’t have been more than, what, two weeks? Three? Since the last time he had had the chance to just stand and look into a mirror, but his face looks like it has aged _years._ His cheekbones are more pronounced then he remembers, slightly hollowed out from all of the excess exercise with little food intake. Dark circles hang low below his eyes and he has two cuts on his face, one on his cheek, and one barely showing on his forehead, disappearing back into his hairline. His lips are chapped dry, and his facial stubble more resembles the beginnings of a beard, something of which he had never let grow in before. Anna used to always tease and chastise him for his ‘boyish features’. If only she could see him now.

Well, maybe in three or four days, she would.

Castiel sighs, turning from his reflection. He picks up his dirty clothes, and heads out of the bathroom.

 

As soon as he steps past the door, he stiffens again. He’s met with the gaze of a group of people, some glaring, who are all waiting for him to move out of the way. One skinnier man brushes past him, whistling a “Whew, took you long enough!” He feels uneasy with so many of these strangers' attention suddenly on him. Sam appears by his elbow, whispers “We warned you that there’d be people waiting.” 

Castiel quickly side steps away with wide eyes as the group starts filing in after him, one man calling out, “Goddamn it Garth, I called the bathroom first, so help me god-”

Castiel glances at their proximity and tries to casually put a few more inches of space between them. “So you did.” The amused glint in Sam’s eyes faint slightly. He tilts his head towards a hallway.

“Come on.”

 

He follows Sam, who seems to be much less concerned with keeping him in direct eyesight than his brother had, though he does continuously glance back at him as they walk. Once or twice Sam starts to try and make idle chitchat, all about the camp here, but Castiel doesn’t have anything to say in return. He doesn’t know these people. He doesn’t care what they said or did, he just wants to make it through the next few days and then be on his way. Eventually, Sam settles for walking in silence.

Castiel almost asks where they’re headed several times, but then he also realizes that it doesn’t really matter whether he knows or not and that he’d rather not give Sam another reason to try and start conversation. Sam seems like a nice enough person so far, but Castiel would rather deal with awkward silence.

 

They eventually stop at a door that’s cracked slightly. Sam raps loudly on the wood a few times before he pushes it open. Jess is inside and she turns to automatically smile at them, that is, until she sees Castiel. He watches, as her smile goes tight; a little forced. Sam’s demeanor however, changes instantaneously and in the exact opposite way. His shoulders relax and his lazy grin comes easily. “Hey, Jess.” He waves two fingers in a sort of salute-wave, “Cas here was wondering if you have any painkillers he could take for his arm.”

Castiel whips his head to look at the shaggy haired man. No, he had not _asked_ for any painkillers at all. Dean had offhandedly offered to try and find him some. As a way to play off his _unspoken threat_ earlier.

And since when had Sam started calling him Cas? He had deliberately told Dean that _his name is Castiel_. And yet now he has Jess stiffly smiling at him with a soft “I’m sure I can find you something, ‘Cas’.”

Castiel closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose.

When he opens them, Jess is searching through some cabinets and Sam is just inside the room, leaning against a counter and staring at him warily.

 

“I think I might get in trouble if I gave away any of our heavy duty stuff, but I think it’d be okay to give you some Tylenol.” She smiles and closes a cabinet; walks over to him and drops three pills into his upturned hand. She winks at him, “They’re extra strength, our little secret.”

Sam chuckles and walks to where a pitcher sits in the corner of the room and pours some water into a plastic cup. When he hands it over, Castiel accepts it with a soft mumbled “Thank you.”

He drinks every drop down. He’ll never take water for granted again.

Jess and Sam are having quiet smalltalk while leaning over either side of a raised medical bed in the middle of the room, and from what Castiel can hear, it’s not about anything of import. He speculates on whether Sam’s real purpose in bringing them there was actually for the conversation and not for pain meds. He doesn’t mind either way, but now he doesn’t know what to do with himself, stuck standing to the side awkwardly. He wants to sit down, now marginally aware of the soreness of his ankles.

After a moment's contemplation, he decides to go sit on a small step stool that’s placed to the side. As soon as he moves though, Sam’s head whips to him, fingers flying to the hilt of the knife in his belt. Castiel stills, staring wide, and so does Sam.

“I…may I sit down?”

After a few seconds, Sam’s shoulders relax and he nods, throwing a tight smile his way. “Yeah. Of course.” Obviously, Sam wasn’t feeling as carefree about the situation as he’d been pretending. Castiel decides that it would probably be in his best interests to not catch the alpha off-guard again. Sam and Jess go back to quiet conversation, pretending as if nothing ever happened.

He cautiously sits down and waits patiently. Quietly. Now wouldn’t be a good time to ask about antibiotics. If a proper time never came up at all… well, he’d have to deal with that on his own.

 

*

 

Later Castiel finds himself once again in the same room as before. It would make sense that they would confine him there for the time being.

… He just wishes that time would pass quicker. According to Sam, who currently sits cross-legged on the floor with an open book laying in his lap, it was only about noon. He’d asked again earlier, when they were expecting their additional jeep to arrive, and Sam had assured him he’d only have to wait two or three days. Castiel had nodded, despite his disappointment. He wishes they’d change their minds and let him leave on his own.

He feels restless and anxious sitting in this bare room. The smell of the place is an underlying, yet overpowering tangible scent, constantly reminding him that he sits in enemy territory. He can’t quite bury the itchy impression that crawls just under his skin. How was he expected to sit here, doing nothing, with this _feeling_ constantly digging at his insides for the next _two or three days?_

“…Sam?”

“Hm?” He hums absently, cocking an eyebrow up without looking away from the book in his hands. A second later Sam’s head shoots up, like he just realized that Castiel had been the one to call him. “Uh, yeah?”

“Do you have another book? One that…I could read?”

“You like to read?” Castiel nods.

Sam smiles. “Sure.” He digs around in a backpack that he’d picked up when they visited Jess. He slides a book towards Cas from across the room. They both sit on the floor, on opposite walls. When Cas hadn’t sat on the bed, Sam hadn’t questioned it. He wonders if Dean told him what he’d said about it.

“Hope you don’t mind horror stories. It’s the only other one I have on me at the moment.”

Cas just nods and looks down. In truth, he doesn’t really enjoy scary tales anymore. He had when he was younger. But not any longer. Real life was terrifying enough for him, he didn’t need fantasy providing any more.

The book title reads ' _Somebody Come and Play._ ' He skims over the summary. It is indeed a sci-fi horror novel. Castiel can’t find it in himself to flip open the cover.

Instead, he spins the book over in his hands for a few silent minutes before he slowly looks up. Sam’s already staring at him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“What?”

Sam shrugs casually. “Nothing. You just…seem troubled.” Sam slowly dog-ears a page in his book and closes it shut. “Would you…” He trails off and then starts again. “Would you like to talk?”

“About what?” Castiel’s worried that he’s going to try prying again. He doesn’t want to discuss the city or his camp.

Sam shrugs again. “Anything.”

When Castiel doesn’t reply, but doesn’t look away either, Sam gently prods, “How did you sleep last night?”

“I slept fine.” Castiel’s not good at small talk. Never really has been, as Balthazar used to like to inform him.

Sam nods. “That’s good. Dean said he didn’t really get any shut eye. He’s probably trying to grab a quick nap in his room right now, before he has to go do chores.”

Castiel’s a little irked at the thought of the other man being awake throughout the night while he lay unconscious in the same room. “He has chores?” He leans back, absently grabbing his bad arm right above the elbow to keep it in place.

“Yeah, we all do. I got out of mine by volunteering to sit with you for the day.” Sam smiles a little more at him. “And Dean’s got cut in half, so I won’t be surprised if he tries to call dibs again. He really hates laundry duty.” Something must cross Castiel’s face without him meaning to, because Sam quickly adds, “It’s not weird or anything, babysitting duty is just an easy out for doing chores around here. We all kind of squabble over it whenever it pops up.”

Castiel’s eyebrows draw together in an annoyed line. “I don’t require… babysitting.”

“Well, no. I meant-” He flails for words, “Sorry, we just call it that. Meg and Dean started it and it kind of just caught on. Whenever we have somebody… new in our camp, we make sure we have somebody with them until... well, with you obviously it’s until you leave but, to be safe…” Sam sighs and slumps back against his wall, looking away.

Castiel feels a little bad for him. Just a little bit. Sam’s clearly just trying to make him feel more comfortable, and Castiel does have to admit, it feels nice to have a conversation with someone, whether or not he really wanted to have it in the first place. He thinks. Tries to come up with an easy conversation topic for Sam to delve into. The only ‘casual’ thing he can think of to say is, “…What kind of chores do you partake in?”

Sam looks back at him with an eyebrow raised that quickly reminds Castiel of his brother. After a few seconds a small amused expression creeps onto his face but Castiel can’t really tell why. “Well…we ‘partake’ in all kinds of chores. Normal stuff, really. Sweeping, cleaning, repairing, cooking… Then we have gardening, laundry, and guard duty. People who keep track of inventory, plan out our supplies for the next few months.” Sam shrugs. “Just anything and everything to keep our Camp running. I’m sure you know how that goes. Our camps been growing larger and winter’s coming, so there’s a lot of planning to do.”

Castiel doesn’t interrupt. It’s nice to just sit back and hear somebody talk. After a while, Castiel quietly prompts, “How do you decide who does which chores?”

Sam hums. “We all switch doing them. Some people bargain and trade off certain chores for others, but Ellen makes sure it all gets done in the end.”

“Ellen is…your leader?”

Sam snorts quietly and smiles. “Depends who you ask, I guess. But no, not really. We don’t have a leader.”

That surprises him. From what he had heard over the last two years, most camps ended up with a singular leader. Somebody who steps up and takes the reigns. Castiel’s ‘camp’, hadn’t even blinked when Zachariah had assumed control.

“Then…how…” He remembers what the camp had said the night before. They had waited for a decision from a group of ‘elders.’ “Your camp is run like a form of democracy? A sort of communalism?”

Sam shrugs again. “If you want to put a name to it, then sure I suppose so. It’s more like we just have a few people who ended up in charge of things. They decide what we’re doing next, but if a lot of people disagree then,” he turns a flippant hand “Then we just don’t do it. It’s worked pretty well for us so far. How about you, how’s your camp run?”

Castiel immediately feels more on edge, and he wants to go back to the casual chat about _this_ camp. He drums his fingers along the elbow of his bad arm for a few seconds and then quietly voices, “Ellen doesn’t seem very old.”

Sam makes a small surprised sound in the back of his throat. “Um sorry, what?”

“She is one of your…’elder’s’, is she not? It seems an odd title for somebody who still seems to be relatively in her prime.”

Sam stares at him and then breaks into a large grin, laughing. “You might want to try repeating that when she’s in the room, it’ll earn you a hell of a lot of brownie points.”

Castiel doesn’t know what brownie points are, but he assumes it’s another camp term.

Sam’s chuckles eventually die down. “No, she’s not old. That’s…that’s another thing Dean started. He started calling her and a few of the other’s that, as a joke- just to get on their nerves, and it just kind of caught on.”

Castiel recalls his new nickname. “That seems to be a reoccurring theme with him.”

Sam hums, “Yeah, guess it is…” He seems to say more so to himself than the other.

 

They lapse into silence again, albeit a more comfortable one. Castiel’s skin no longer tingles with an underlying anxiety like before, but still, it’s unnerving. Staying sedentary inside this quiet room with no windows, while knowing that the chaotic world outside continues on. It’s such a stark contrast from his weeks prior.

It creeps up on him over the course of the next hour; the realization that it’s the relaxedness, the stillness, of the basic room that’s causing him unease. It’s too immobile. Too calm.

He takes a deep breath, counts to ten. Repeats. He needs to get the restless sensation out of his system, after all, this is going to be his life for the next few days.

 

Not much time passes before there’s a sharp rap on the door. Sam and him look up when it opens without permission. The man from the night before, Alastair, walks in casually bearing two brown paper bags.

“Well, doesn’t this just look like fun.” He motions to the two men sitting on the floor, easy smirk being thrown towards Castiel. Castiel politely tilts his head back as a form of greeting.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel blinks at his tone and stares at Sam scowling at the newcomer. It’s the first time Castiel has seen him be anything but pleasant all day.

“What does it look like?” Alastair holds up the bags innocently in the air. “I come bearing gifts.” He smiles easily towards Sam, despite the returning scowl. He walks over and holds them both out to him, “Take your pick.”

Sam’s scowl only deepens. He snatches one of the bags from Alastair’s hands and doesn’t bother to hide his animosity. “I thought Ruby was bringing us lunch?”

Alastair snorts, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you big boy?” He turns without waiting for an answer and walks to Cas, continuing with, “Sorry to disappoint, but apparently your piece of ass decided she had better things to do today.”

Castiel stays quiet, not wanting to get into the middle of whatever was going on. He accepts the bag when it’s held out to him. It’s warm. He opens it cautiously and is met with the mouth-watering aroma of cooked chicken and a biscuit. He’s in awe.

Looking back up just to make sure it’s not a fluke, he’s met with Alastair’s sly wink. “Maybe you can stomach some real food this time.” Alastair stands there passively with his hands in his pockets, face pleasant.

Castiel doesn’t need to be told twice. He delves into the bag and grabs a handful of chicken. It’s messy, and he doesn’t have silverware, but he doesn’t care. He quietly scarfs some down like a barbarian, completely forgoing manners. He’s still so hungry. The small sandwich the man had given him last night had tasted amazing. Granted, he hadn’t taken the time to actually _taste_ it either, but it had been nice to put something in his stomach even if at the time it had felt like it was twisted in tight knots.

He tries to force himself to pause after a few bites, fearing being sick, but he fails. After a few minutes he feels his stomach grumble, the organ slowly coming back to life. He starts to pick at the biscuit, slower this time.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He looks up with a start. He’d completely forgotten about the others in the room with the haze of food before him. Sam is glaring with open hostility at Alastair, who is still standing two feet away looking down at Castiel.

Cas tries and fails not to be uncomfortable with the man’s attention on him. He self-consciously wipes his hand over his small beard, trying to wipe away the embarrassing flecks of food that has no-doubt landed there.

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” Alastair turns half around to raise his eyebrows exasperatedly at Sam.

“Is there ever a time when you’re not?”

They stand eye-locked, Sam glaring and Alastair smirking. Cas sits and waits for the moment to pass. With him so close, he can smell the slight Beta scent weakly wafting through the room, breaking up the dominating Alpha counterpart that had slowly filled its crevices. He wonders about the history between the two. They both seemed like nice men. What caused such aggression between them?

Eventually, Alastair shrugs his shoulders. He turns to Castiel again, his sneer softening into a bit of a smile, “Enjoy your food, Castiel.”

Castiel tries to return a tight smile but he can’t quite manage it with Sam’s tense form sitting so rigidly across from them. “Thank you.” He mutters quietly instead.

Alastair leaves without any further comment. Castiel returns to eating his food, politely ignoring Sam’s deep breathing and the way he’s obviously forcing himself to relax. Sam opens his own bag and starts to munch on his own lunch. At a much slower pace and with much more grace.

It just makes Castiel more self-conscious of how he had inhaled his own. It’s a silly notion really, he had been starving after all. But he had been raised in a respectable environment all the way up until breakout, where manners and good etiquette had been nearly cherished by those around him.

He finishes picking the last pieces of chicken out of the bottom of the bag, forces himself not to lick at his greasy fingers and instead wipes them on his pants, and starts to insecurely pick at his scruffy beard again. He can’t see if he’s gotten it all, but he doesn’t want to look foolish on the off-chance that he hadn't.

“You don’t usually have a beard do you?” Sam’s eyeing him while he continues to eat.

“No, I don’t.” His lets his hand fall back to his lap, giving up.

Sam nods, finishes his lunch and stands up, wiping his hands on his pants in a mirror of Castiel. “Hold on a second.” And he leaves the room.

Castiel sits there on edge, eyes wide. Hadn’t Sam just said not too long ago that he wasn’t to be left on his own? What if one of the other members of this camp came by and saw? Would they get angry?

Of course, for a split second, the idea of attempting to creep out of the room and make another run for it crosses his mind, but he squashes it down. He’s even less likely to make it anywhere today than he was yesterday.

Not even two minutes pass before Sam returns. When he enters, he breathes in deep, stilling, eyes closing for a split second. He rolls his shoulders back. When he opens them, his smile lights up when he looks at him and Castiel tries not to let that bother him. Sam holds up a cheap razor, shaving cream, a small tube of toothpaste, and a plastic toothbrush that’s still in clear plastic wrap. “I bet you’d like to use some of these.” He waves at Castiel over his shoulder, turning into the bathroom, not waiting to see if he follows.

Castiel’s hesitant and a little taken aback. Still, he slowly stands up, and tries to ignore the burn in his ankle and legs when he trails after him.

 

The connected bathroom is a small one. It holds a low toilet with a wood cover that doesn’t quite match the rest and a small rustic sink with a cracking counter around it. He grimaces when he notices the corner of the counter is chipped and slightly stained with the brownish hue of old blood. That girl must have hit her head fairly hard against it.

He picks up the razor uncertainly from where Sam had set it down and glances at him, but Sam’s just leaning on the wall trying to look indifferent.

“… are you sure?” He shouldn’t be taking anything from this camp that he doesn’t need to. Any and all supplies are considered precious these days and he’s leaving soon. He doesn’t want to feel like he owes them anything when he leaves. And while it’s practically harmless in it’s plastic case, if he was in Sam’s position the last thing he would do is hand over a razor.

“Consider it an apology for your arm.” Sam shrugs and smiles.

“You weren’t the one who shot me.” He pauses, “And it wasn’t your fault. I..was trying-”

“Forget it. It’s in the past.” Sam crosses his arms and scuffs his foot along the tiled floor. Castiel only waits a few seconds before shrugging and lathers up his face.

“Besides, Dean won’t apologize. It’s nothing against you, it’s just how he is.”

Castiel makes a swipe down his face with the razor and glances over at him. “He… already has.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, bewildered. “He has?”

He shrugs his good shoulder again. “In a way.” It’s hard to shave with one arm, but eventually he gets it done. His other arm isn’t totally useless though, and he does manage to use it to uncap the toothpaste with minimal ache. It really only hurts when he tries to move it from the shoulder joint.

He brushes his teeth longer than he ever has in his life before. His gums feel sore and they bleed in a few places, but he doesn’t stop until he can no longer taste anything but mint.

He’s almost disappointed when there’s nothing left to do. All of these small mundane actions, he’d taken for granted before. It’s amazing, the extent of which you find yourself appreciating these small gestures once you’ve had to live without them.

 

He sighs when they return to sitting in the other room. It’s so... monotonous. He’d think that it would be pleasant after all that he’s gone through lately, yet he still finds it tedious after only another hour passes. He can’t go about and do anything, and yet he can’t relax.

Sam is over half-way through the large book in his lap, and he seems content now to just sit without conversation. Castiel finds himself giving into the dull boredom and opens the novel Sam had given him.

It’s certainly an easy read, and Castiel is satisfied with it up until a young boy is mysteriously blown to pieces while calling out and pleading for help. Castiel quickly shuts the book with a shudder.

Hours pass.

 

Castiel is accidentally nodding off into a light sleep for a third time when another knock sounds from the door. He shakes himself awake as Sam calls out for them to enter.

A slightly scruffy man peeks inside. His eyes glance over Castiel for a small moment and then he turns his full attention to Sam. “Hey man, need a break?”

Sam closes the book he’s nearly done reading with a heavy thud and stretches with his hands above his head, back cracking noisily. “Yeah actually, Chuck, that’d be really great.”

Chuck nods, walks in, and brings a bag just like the one Alastair had carried earlier over to Castiel. The man doesn’t look at him as he quickly hands off the bag, and then walks to Sam, talking with his back to Castiel.

“Ellen gave Dean the night shift in here again. He said he’s getting dinner first and then grabbing a cot from inventory. I can stay until he gets here.”

Cas opens the bag. It’s chicken again, but this time there are some plain noodles mixed in with it. He wonders if they have an excess of meat they’re trying to get rid of. There’s a small plastic fork in the bag though, and Castiel’s definitely not going to complain any time soon, so he digs in.

Sam stands up, collecting his things and brushing invisible dust from his pants. He pauses though and looks over at Chuck. “I thought Dean was on guard today? Weren’t you in the kitchen? When did you get to talk to him?”

Castiel thinks that he can spot a small tinge of suspicion in Sam’s gaze. Chuck won’t meet his eyes.

“Uh, yeah, I think so.” Chuck shrugs. “Just ran into him. Dunno.”

Sam stares at him for a few seconds, eyes slightly narrowed. “Mm-hm.” He throws his bag over his shoulder and smiles towards Castiel. “You gunna be alright? See you tomorrow?”

Castiel quickly tries to swallow a mouthful of chicken down and nods, “Yes, thank you Sam. Have a good night.”

 

When Sam leaves, Chuck doesn’t take his spot on the floor. Instead he stays standing, leaning against the wall. His stance seems awkward and tense and he won’t meet Castiel’s eyes. In fact, he seems to nervously be trying to ignore his existence entirely.

He finishes all of the food in the bag and still, nothing changes. Chuck doesn’t try to make conversation like Sam or Dean had. After awhile, Castiel begrudgingly finds himself opening the book again. Anything to help the time pass by.

He sighs. Just two more days.

 

 

X

 

 

 

“Fuck, it’s too damn hot out.” Dean wipes a rag over the back of his sweaty neck for the thousandth time. “What happened to Fall? It was practically freezing yesterday!”

“Oh, quit ‘yer bitching.” Bobby grumbles back at him.

Dean makes a show of groaning and picking up his gun to sling it over his shoulder. “Just trying to make some conversation.” He throws on a mocking pout and bats his eyelashes at his old family friend. “What, not down for talking about the weather? How else am I supposed to break this ice between us, Bobby? You’re so cold.”

Bobby shoves him away, shaking his head. “Quit your mucking about, and do your job.” Though the corners of his lips are twitching up under his old trucker cap.

“What job?! There’s nothing to do!” His voice loud around them as he turns in a dramatic circle, arms thrown wide. It’s about 4pm, the sun blazing away wherever they have no shade for shelter. Bobby doesn’t bother reprimanding him for the excess noise.

Honestly, Dean’s used to it. He gets guard duty about every five days or so, but you can only walk in circles around the outside fence of the camp so many times before boredom digs into you. He’d take guarding over the other chores any day of the week though. It’s mindless, and normally if it’s something small, you can multitask while you do it. He use to blast his iPod all day long, until they couldn’t sacrifice charging it anymore. Sam usually quizzes himself on information from his old school books while he does it. If Ellen and Bobby were in a good mood, sometimes they’d let Dean drink throughout his shift. Not today though, today most everyone was a bit more on edge after the events of the night before. Thankfully, he only has to endure an hour more of this.

He’d managed to grab three whole hours of shut-eye earlier after leaving his brother with Castiel this morning before Ellen had found him and kicked his ass out of bed. She had offered him the next day off, including skipping laundry day, if he volunteered to stay with the outsider again for the night. Predictably, he hadn’t argued. Laundry day was his weakness and everyone knew it. He could handle a few awkward, cold stares all night long in exchange, no promblemo. Bring it on.

 

He had been a little apprehensive at first about leaving Sam this morning, but then he realized that Sam was admittedly right, and he was, perhaps, being a little ridiculous. Sam’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. And Castiel had at least seemed… passive, or accepting, of the situation when he had left him. A little on edge, maybe, but compliant enough.

On the other hand though, Castiel had also seemed on guard throughout the entirety of the morning, like he was constantly half-poised for an attack or something. Particularly when Dean had busted into the bathroom earlier.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d been a little stunned when he’d seen Castiel ducking around the corner, eyes flashing in wide alarm. The amount of distrust and panic that had colored his face had been a little disarming, especially when compared with the stoic expression he’d stubbornly been wearing ever since Dean had decided to take his finger off the trigger. It’d caught him off guard. It’d been awhile since he’d seen someone focus that sort of look at _him_ instead of the world around them.

 

Dean strolls around the perimeter of the make shift walls built around the camp. Some of it's actual fencing, but so fixed up with reinforcing aluminum metal sheets and spare wood planks that it probably more resembles a patchwork made out of a junkyard than anything. Really, it wasn’t much of a defense, but more just precaution of keeping anything from sneaking in unnoticed. It was more up to the three or four people constantly patrolling, or standing up in their single hand-made ‘watch platform’, who were responsible for making sure they weren’t attacked by any wayward Croatoans. They were situated far enough into the countryside however that they could normally go three or four months without anything crossing their path.

Their camp didn’t look all that impressive to the eye, but Dean was proud of it. What had started out as an abandoned building built mostly with an underground basement floor level with old offices and research rooms, had quickly become a makeshift home over the past 21 months they'd lived here. They hadn’t meant to stay originally, but here they still were. Dean’s group had been the first ones to move in, and as more and more people joined them, the larger and homier the place had become.

Supply run after supply run, they’d slowly gathered materials and provisions. Mattresses, clothes, foods, weapons. This place was the sturdiest base camp he’d seen so far after break out, besides the military camps that had existed towards the beginning of it all. Yeah, Dean would say he was proud.

“Dude!”

As Dean rounds a corner, straying a bit farther away from his surveillance area then he is actually supposed to, he grins at Ash and Chuck who are sitting on crates, backs leaning up against the back of the camp wall.

“Hey man.” He was hoping they’d be here.

Chuck doesn't stop him when he snatches the cigarette pack from next to him bumming one. Ash had ditched this habit for something ‘greener’ and the smell was permeating around them.

“I’m not lying to your brother again the next time he asks if you’re still smoking.” Chuck shakes his head, eyes tired.

“Yeah you are.” Dean simply remarks, leaning back against the wall. Ash laughs.

 

 

*

 

 

The rest of the day passes unremarkably. Chuck said he’d relieve Sam until Dean could get around to sitting-on-my-ass-doing-nothing-duty. He’d kept an eye out for his brother while he grabbed a quick dinner but they never crossed paths.

 

He grabs a quick cold shower in the crappy out-of-place locker room the building has and then drags his feet towards inventory. ‘ _No laundry duty this week._ ’ He keeps telling himself, gearing up for another night of not sleeping in his own bed. He steps around the rustic blood stain on the floor left from yesterday where somebody had done a half-assed attempt at cleaning it up before giving up. Meg’s thankfully not there when he passes by. He’s not in the mood to deal with her bullshit.

 

One cheap cot, an extra set of bedding and clothes, some extra bandages, and an impressive forty-minutes-of-stalling later and Dean resigns himself to entering the holding room.

Chuck’s the only one in there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and head tilted back to the ceiling with his eyes closed. He looks over when he hears him come in.

Dean’s about two seconds from freaking the fuck out when Chuck throws a lazy thumb over his shoulder. “Bathroom.”

Dean exhales in relief. He did not need a repeat of last night.

“When I said I’d wait in here for you, I didn’t think you’d take all day to finally show up.” Chuck tries to look upset, but there’s never really any anger behind the man.

Dean shrugs apologetically, ”Sorry man, took the scenic route.” Chuck mutters a soft ‘whatever’ and leaves without preamble. He never really was one for being comfortable around strangers. It’d taken Dean three whole weeks to get him to warm up to him and that’s saying something. Dean is downright _loveable,_ thank-you-very-much, and anyone who even attempts resisting his charm obviously has something knocked loose somewhere in their ‘noggin. Despite whatever bullshit lies Sam might say otherwise.

 

He tosses the cot onto Castiel’s nestle of blankets on the floor and is in the middle of moving to the bed when the bathroom door opens. He nods at Castiel, takes another step towards the bed, and then halts right in his tracks. He has to do a double-take.

He lets out a slow, impressive whistle, eyebrows raised. “Wow.”

Castiel is standing in the doorway, hand gripping the handle with a guarded expression. Otherwise, he looks like an entirely different man from the one he'd woken up this morning with. The ratty, dirty jacket-black tee-and ripped jeans combo has been replaced with the white scrubs Ruby had thrown at him down in laundry earlier. His skin’s wiped clean of the dirty grime and his hair is a soft dark brown instead of the oily black it’d been before. His blue eyes look clearer, less sunken in. He’s shaved. He looks… well, human. Also, possibly, like an escaped mental patient in that get-up, but still. It’s a good look, and it’s seemed to have de-aged him by about a good ten years.

Castiel looks around at the otherwise empty room, glances behind him back into the bathroom, before his eyes fall upon Dean’s again, shifting uncertainly. “What?”

“Nothing.” He automatically retorts, jerkily turning to strip the bed and cover it in new bedding. One night sleeping in other peoples dirty sheets was plenty enough. He definitely was _not_ trying to cover up that he’d been staring. Because he hadn’t been. Staring, that is. He _hadn’t_.

He glances over his shoulder again, just long enough to see Castiel still stiffly half-way in the bathroom. He raises his shoulders in a tight, careless shrug. “Just didn’t expect you to clean up that well, I guess.”

Castiel looks down at himself, a small frown on his face. “It may have been more difficult with an injured arm I suppose, but I find that soap and water will usually suffice. It wasn’t that challenging.”

Dean pauses in bundling up the sheets, eyeing him. “You know what I meant.” He tosses the bundle into a corner.

Cas is quiet behind him for awhile, until eventually he mutters, “Oh. You meant that as a compliment.” Dean pauses once again.

“Uh, sure. I guess.” Way to make it awkward. He shifts uncomfortably, resolutely keeping his eyes on the task in front of him. The lights overhead flicker twice, shut off. Dean waits and listens to see how Castiel takes the light-change this time around but he doesn’t hear anything from the other man as the dimmer set switches on.

“Is that for me?” Castiel points, unaffected, to the cot on the floor.

“Mm-hmm.” He returns without turning around. Castiel crosses the room behind him. Seconds after, a light scent Dean’s never smelled before softly wafts by him. His stomach twists so suddenly that the air is ripped from his lungs.

His back straightens, and his hands white knuckle on the sheet below him. Was that…?

He stiffly turns his head; wide alert eyes on Castiel’s back as he bends down to assess the cot. It was. It is. It’s coming from him.

Holy shit. Where had that come from? Castiel certainly hadn’t smelled like that this morning. It was like… well, he wasn’t sure what it smelled like. It was like something brand new…and yet, something familiar. It was odd… and pleasant. And refreshing. That was the word that kept running through his head as he stood there trying to figure out what it reminded him of. Freshness. Crispness. Distinct but not overpowering.

He’d become pretty used to discovering new scents over the past two years as his previously dull senses developed and strengthened. It shouldn’t really faze him anymore. But this… it felt like something was tugging, just lightly, at the base of his skull. Like a memory that you know is there, but just can’t seem to recall or bring to the surface.

It takes him much longer then he’s comfortable with admitting to, to finally place his finger on it.

Castiel smells comparable to the Omegas, as a whole; as a group, before they had disappeared. It’s only a small association though. Back then; it took some concentration to separate somebody’s type out in a group by scent alone. Sure, Dean’s senses have heightened incredibly since but still, compared to this… theirs just seemed so…muffled. In an off-hand, barely relatable sort of way, it kind of reminded him of Madison.

So was this what an Omega actually smelled like, at full sniffing-power-or whatever-the-fuck, and after all of the chemicals were gone?

And had Castiel really been covered in _that much nasty gunk_ that it had managed to cover it all up? Now _that_ was a disturbing thought.

“Dean?”

He startles out of his reverie. “Uh-what?” Castiel is standing back up now, eyeing him suspiciously. With an uncomfortable embarrassment, Dean realizes he’d been staring the whole damn time without realizing it. Again.

“Is there something you wanted?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘P’ in a cringe-worthy attempt at nonchalance and fumbles with the sheets under his hands. At least now that odd smell was dissipating, dispersing throughout the room.

Why hadn’t Chuck mentioned anything about it before he left? A little forewarning? Had Sam noticed it?

He’s just finishing tugging a pillowcase onto its cotton partner when a small grunt of frustration sounds behind him. Castiel’s struggling with setting up the cot, trying to use his bad arm while still keeping it pressed up close to his side. Dean watches for a few long seconds as Castiel pitifully scuffles with the latch to unfold the metal legs before he finally gives in, sighing.

“Move over.” He shoulders his way into Castiel’s space, not meeting his eyes, and undoes the latches. They’re stiff, and it takes some harsh jerking before they finally pull all the way out and lock into place. When he stands back straight, he finds that Castiel is still standing exactly where Dean had pushed him instead of moving away, and there’s only half a foot of distance between them to soften the sharp stare that’s being thrown his way.

He almost parrots Cas’ earlier “ _what?_ ” back at him, but decides against it. Instead, he drags his gaze away from those intense blues and wordlessly, Castiel helps him pick up the cot and turn it onto its proper side.

“Thank you.” Castiel’s deep timber returns hesitantly, like he’s waiting for a catch. Dean just nods and bends down to drag the sheets out from underneath it. Castiel reaches down to help and they end up bumping shoulders. The brunette starts, stepping back and seemingly out of instinct, grabs his arm by the elbow.

“Shit, you okay?”

Castiel quickly cools his expression. “Yes, I’m fine.” As if making a point, he lets go of his arm and continues moving the blankets.

“Okay…” Dean rubs at the back of his neck. There’s some unspoken tension hanging heavy in the air, and it’s starting to become tiring. “Listen… I, uh, brought some clean bandages. We should probably get your arm rewrapped before it gets late.”

Castiel turns to him, looking surprised. After a moment he responds with a quiet, “Alright.”

The next thing Dean knows, he's slowly unwrapping the white gauze from around Castiel's bicep. He’d made sure to wait until Castiel offered up his arm of his own accord this time.

He’s done this a few hundred times before, whenever Sam, Jo, or anyone else made some dumb mistake and needed help being patched back up. He’s watched it been done to himself a few times too, and he knows how much more difficult it is to try and do it on your own. So redoing the bandages on some strangers arm should be a piece of cake. A no-brainer.

Except this particular stranger seems to be busy burrowing holes into the side of his face with an extreme intensity. Dean tries his best to ignore it, but his fingers fumble slightly every now and then when his concentration slides more to the thought of ‘ _Don’t look up. Don’t look up._ ’ instead of being gentle.

He gives a sympathetic grimace when he pulls the gauze away from the wound, the skin pulling slightly. Castiel’s mouth scrunches into a hard line, but otherwise doesn’t react.

“Sorry Cas, but I don’t think you’re really supposed to treat this like a band-aide. No tear-and-bare for you.” He grins. He rips open a sanitation swab and wipes the area down, picks up a fresh pack of gauze to restart the whole process.

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” He looks up to finally meet Castiel’s squinty-eyed questioning look.

He shrugs, quickly looking back down. “Dunno’. Just want to.”

He’s nearly done when Castiel timidly says, “I am also sorry.”

Dean’s hands slip, he’s taken so off-guard. He quickly readjusts, so the bandage doesn’t start to unravel and balks at him. “What?”

“For nearly bringing harm to your brother. I know I apologized before, but given the circumstances, … it was admittedly insincere. Sam is a pleasant person, and you reacted out of the need to protect your family. I wanted you to know that…I don’t harbor any ill feelings towards you for your actions. And I apologize for mine.” Dean’s a bit more then a little impressed with Castiel’s ability to say everything he just did without once looking away to break eye-contact.

Dean can’t though. He busies himself with finishing the bandage and then steps back, refusing to let the blush that’s trying to break through have its way. In thirty seconds, Castiel had managed to say more then he had since Dean had returned. Where had this come from?

“Okay.” Is Dean’s eventual, very lame, reply. He rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah, sure man. Don’t sweat it.”

Castiel tilts his head in confusion, and what looks like, slight worry.

Dean back-tracks. “Well, obviously, it is a big deal. Don’t try that shit ever again. But, for now…” He takes a deep calming breath. “I’m okay with putting it behind us if you are... truce?” He throws a lop-sided smile in to join his out-stretched hand.

The corner of Castiel’s mouth turns up, just slightly in the genuine beginnings of a small smile. He takes Dean’s warm hand. “Truce.”

 

Dean decides not to risk stepping on the guy's ego and leaves him be to stretch his sheets across his own cot.

He steps into the bathroom, out of sight, but leaves the door open as he changes into sleeping clothes. He normally sleeps in just his boxers, but he gets the feeling that that would be inappropriate in this situation.

He calls out while he pulls his shirt over his head, “If you really want me to, I can stop.”

“Sorry?” Castiel glances back at him over one shoulder.

“Calling you Cas. If it really bothers you that much, I’ll stop.”

Cas glances down at the sheets in his hand, contemplating. “No… it’s alright. I’m just…” He absently fingers the cloth. Dean leans out of the doorway and notices a sort of far away look in his eye. “The last person who gave me a nickname… my best friend… well, he…” And Dean suddenly feels like an ass.

“Hey man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He walks out in his gray sweatpants and black shirt, and gives a clumsy attempt at a comforting pat on the man’s shoulder. He pulls away when the other clenches his jaw. “’ _Castiel_ ’ it is then. No problem.”

Castiel shakes his head, “No, I didn’t mean it like that. You can call me Cas. My friend – he’s… he’s not dead.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“No, he’s not.” Castiel sounds almost defensive.

Dean shrugs and turns to throw his clothes on top of the dirty sheets in the corner. “So, … is he at your camp then?”

“What?” Cas stops for a second, eyebrows drawing together as he glances up. Then they widen. “Oh, yes.” He looks back down, smooths out the cloth below him one last time and climbs up.

Dean follows suit and jumps onto the bigger bed. “So I bet he misses you probably, huh?”

Dean lays on his side, punching his pillow into submission below him. Castiel stays sitting with his back against the wall, legs hanging over the edge of the cot. Castiel seems hesitant to answer, “I… would hope so, yes.”

 

Dean’s quiet for a few minutes. He eyes Castiel’s form in the dim light, assessing, before he softly asks, “Do they know where you were, Cas?” Castiel tilts his head away from Dean, looking at the opposite wall. “Do they know that you were stuck in the city? By yourself?”

Castiel doesn’t move. He bites on his lip for a minute, hands folded in his lap. Eventually, he just murmurs a quiet, soft, “Goodnight Dean.”

Dean huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. I know when to shut my mouth.” He lays flat on his back, hands folded above his head. As an after thought, he returns, “Night’ Cas.”

 

He doesn’t really mean to, ‘cuz it’s kind of his job to stay at least a little alert while in there, but Dean quickly finds himself drifting off.

 

Unlike him, Castiel has had more than his fair share of sleep for the day. He’s wide awake. He could try to sneak out of the room and find his escape while the camper slumbers. But he doesn’t. He sits there, occasionally eyeing the still lump lying on the opposite bed for a few more hours into the night. It seems like a long time has passed before he can finally convince his body to lie down and attempt to rest.

Before he finally dozes off though, he thinks that; if he had managed to survive two or three _weeks_ inside the gates of the harsh city… then he should certainly be able to handle two or three _days_ more of this foreign camp. What’s the worst that could happen?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long Chapter! :)  
> Comments make my daaay!


	6. Day two:Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning into something 10x longer then I ever meant it to. Oh well.  
> Thank you, thank you, thank you! To everyone who's been leaving comments. They really do make my day.
> 
> Special thanks to Kikiarty for beta'ing and her support.

 

 

__

 

_*_

 

 

_  
“Damn it, Dean! Stop arguing with me and just do it!”_

_“Okay, fine! But I'm telling you, It's hell trying to get through these streets. And he's not answering his phone. It's a big University, how the hell am I supposed to find him?”Dean flinches when he has to pull the impala halfway onto the sidewalk to avoid hitting a car-jam that was left to sit in the middle of the road. The loud 'thump' on the bottom of his car just serves as a grim reminder that the wax job he'd just finished the day before had completely gone to waste. His poor baby._

_“Oh, my mistake. And here I was, thinking I'm speaking to a fully-grown man.” Dean closes his eyes and grits his teeth for the split second he can afford as the condescending tone floats through the receiver. “Do you need me to turn around? Stop going to pick up your distraught, panicking mother, because you can't manage to be bothered to pick up your damn brother?”_

_“No sir.”He silently sighs, and shoulders the phone so he can use both hands to take the next turn. “I'm on my way now. Go get mom. It just might take me a little longer then you want it to. All the streets are - Fuck!” He slams on the brakes and lays into his horn at the same time, barely missing the back bumper of the car that had stopped so fast in front of him that it had skidded slightly to the side, knocking over a bike rack. He leans onto the passenger seat to glance behind him and throws his car into reverse. “Everything's crowded. Are you sure this isn't just some false alarm? Press having a field-day?” He finds a smaller side street that runs parallel with the one he'd been heading towards. He normally wouldn't question his father, especially when he seemed to be in such a sour mood, but this whole situation just seemed a little ridiculous. Like really? Getting a phone call in the middle of the damn day demanding that he leave work, drop everything, and pick up his little brother that he hadn't even seen in 3 months, all because of some rumor that something was in the city? It sounded like the beginnings of a really cliché Godzilla movie or some shit. But apparently everyone was eating it right up, because as the past hour slipped by, the town around him had slowly found itself in a mild uproar._

_“No, Dean. This isn't some drill. The News channels aren't even reporting anything on it. Something…. something bad is happening.” Dean's stomach tightens when his father's voice suddenly turns… almost soft. Concerned. “Your mother and I… we're worried. Please, just be careful. Don't stop anywhere else. Pick up your brother and then drive straight for the countryside. If you can, head south. Remember Bobby's old cabin? If we can't get ahold of each other, we'll all meet up there, okay?”_

_Dean slowly releases the breath he was holding. “Yeah, okay Dad.” If his father was really this freaked out over it, then he shouldn't take it as any laughing matter. John Winchester was not a man scared easily. “What do you think it is?”_

_“Must be a disease or flu or something. Whatever's been happening under-the-wraps in some of the other states, I think it's reached here.” Well, Dean can cross Godzilla off the list. Dang. “Don't worry about it. Just get to your brother as fast as you can. As soon as I can make it to the house, your mother and I will head out, and we'll all meet up tonight, okay?”_

_“Yes, sir.” Is his automatic reply. He's about to hang up when he's distracted by two people dashing out in front of his car. This time he has to brake so hard, his whole body slams forward and he loses the phone as it flies up onto the dash. “Hey! Watch it lady! What the hell do-“ A lady, probably in her early thirties and a little boy, around seven or eight that he assumes is her son, stand directly in front of his car, holding each other hand in hand. Everyone has been zipping around on foot or in cars throughout his entire ride, seemingly forgetting every street law ever created. But these two, they look so distressed, so panicked, that Dean forgets what he was going to say half-way through. He watches, bewildered, as she turns to him and screams for help. Even through the glass and metal of his beloved Impala, he can hear her clear as day. She's pounding on the front hood of his car in rapid succession, desperately calling for his attention, and Dean already has one leg out of the car in response._

_Something catches his eye though, something that makes him pause for just the briefest of seconds. He almost doesn't see it in his haste to go help the panicking mother, but the son…_

_He looks scared. Terrified. But all of his fear is focused on the woman standing next to him. Dean looks down and they're not holding hands. The woman has a death-grip on the boy's wrist, whose pulling against her with all of his might. The woman takes a step or two towards Dean's open door, relief on her face. “Oh, thank you! Please, thank you!” She's calling to him in a litany of comments, but Dean can't take his eyes off the son. The boy has a tear gliding down his cheek and he's jerking in her grasp, staring up at her in a mixture of confusion and terror._

_He's about to jump out and rip the boy away from her and figure out what just the hell is going on, when some other man passing by on the street reaches them first. This guy has eyes solely for the mother. He gently places a concerned hand on her shoulder and turns her, asking what's wrong. Dean pauses again, now standing just outside the car door, as the lady turns with a smile like every worry in the world has just been lifted off her shoulders._

_She releases the boy, who staggers backwards hard onto his backside, and faces the new man. Before Dean can decide what he wants to do, her hand disappears into her pocket and reappears, and something silver is disappearing into the man in front of her._

_His brain has ceased working. Dean just stands there, mouth agape, as the woman fucking_ stabs _the man who had come to her aide. Again. And again. The man falls to the side, a surprised expression of pain and bafflement scarred across his features, mindlessly clutching at his bleeding stomach. She follows him down to the ground. In one quick sweep, she cuts open a gash on her hand and then starts to stab him again._

_“Oh…” Dean sways, gripping onto the metal door in front of him for dear life. “Oh my god.” Bile rises in his throat, but it's like his body hasn't reclaimed enough control to accomplish the task. What should he do?! He's just watched someone be murdered! She's just murdered a man! She's still currently murdering him!_

_The little boy finally scrambles up off the ground with a loud shriek of a cry, tears pouring down his face now, turns and bolts down the road._

_In a panicked daze, Dean looks around. It's broad daylight! Why hasn't anyone stopped her? A few people have noticed what's happening, but instead of calling for help, or stepping in, they're turning and running the other way. What a bunch of cowards!_

_Fuck, Dean's a coward. He still hasn't moved, but now his legs are shaking like they're going to give out. “Stop.” He calls, but it's weak to his own ears. “Stop!” He repeats, louder. This time the lady does. She looks up at him, face lightly sprayed with a few streaks of red now._

_Dean's body realizes his mistake before his brain does, and he stumbles back into his car and slams the door shut before she's even made it off the ground. A horn honks distantly behind him from where somebody's pulled up to his bumper, obviously not taking notice of the catastrophe happening in front of him._

_“No! Please, I need your help!” She calls out again in the same innocent distressed tone. She turns, and frowns when she sees that the little boy is no longer next to her. When she turns back, a small devious smile pulls at her lips. “Please! Come help me?” All Dean can see is the glint of the red-soaked knife in her palm and the way she's quickly making her way around to his side of the car. He doesn't think. He reacts._

_He floors the gas-peddle and clenches his eyes shut when her body smashes into the windshield._

 

 

 

Dean wakes with a choked, gasping breath. His body seizes up in reaction to the phantom hit.

It takes a few seconds, but eventually, he falls back limp against the mattress, panting softly into the dark room. His heart is racing and his shirt has soaked through wherever it touches the sheets below him.

 

It was more a memory then a nightmare, but when sleeping, it always held more of a hypersensitivity kick to it. A brand of suffocating intensity made worse by the fact that he couldn't seem to wake up. Minutes pass by as he stares up at the ceiling, waiting for his bodily functions to get back under his control.

He deeply inhales; exhales, one more time. The camp lights are still in their night mode, barely giving off a dim glow from the ceiling above. They're a bit more effective out in the hallway and the larger rooms, but for now, Dean's just glad that they're still switched off. He's not ready to face the new day.

He shifts onto his side and stares out into the room. The air feels cool against his damp back and, thankfully, he can already feel the memory-dream slipping away. He doesn't like remembering the last time he heard his father's voice. The way his words continued to ring out low in the back of his head despite the two years that had passed since they were spoken. Angry. Exasperated. Concerned. How does that one saying go? You never know it's the last time until it's already passed? Whatever it is, he doesn't like it.

He glances at the cot across from him and is glad to still see a large lump under the sheets. So unless he's taken to stuffing pillows like a teenage girl, Castiel still hasn't tried to leave. Good. He'd rather _not_ have to spend his entire day trying to track down a stray omega.

If it were up to him, he would probably just let Castiel leave at this point. So what, if he figured out where their camp is? Dean's could take care of whatever trouble he tried bringing back. Dean wasn't afraid of some little obscure camp that had probably barely managed to slink into the area. Instead, they're going to have to waste their own camp's time and gas trying to bring back someone who refused to even acknowledge that they needed the help.

 

The longer he lies there, the more his eyes adjust to the dark. It takes him a few minutes before he notices something glossy across the room. And it takes another few seconds to realize that it's Castiel's blue orbs staring back at him.

He starts. That's not creepy at all. Has he been awake this whole time?

 

Dean lets the tension bleed back out of his muscles as he relaxes again. Cas isn't doing anything. He's just lying there, head barely sticking out of the end of his bundle of blankets, calmly gazing across at him.

Dean doesn't speak. At first, it’s because he doesn’t even know what he could possibly say. _“Why are you awake?” “Take a picture, it’ll last longer?”_ He can’t exactly yell at the guy for not sleeping.

Then he realizes… that the quiet is actually kind of nice for once, and he really doesn’t want to break it. So instead, he stays silent.

 

They both just… sort of lay there, not quite acknowledging that either is awake. Their eyes meet every now and then, mostly because Castiel never seems to look away, but it’s okay. It might just be that it’s too early for Dean to be bothered, but for the moment, everything is calm. Neutral. Bordering on peaceful now, despite the rough start. He listens to the quiet repetitive sound of them breathing out into the room.

 

Probably twenty minutes or so silently pass by before Dean no longer feels any dregs of sleepiness pulling at him and he accepts that at some point or another, they’ll have to get up anyways, so might as well. “You get any sleep at all?” He drags himself up into a sitting position.

 

“Some.” Cas doesn’t move, and his voice is extra-raspy like it had been the morning before.

Dean nods absently, rubbing his hands over his face.

 

“I believe you were having a nightmare, but I wasn’t sure if I should have tried to wake you.”

Dean pauses and eyes him. Cas only continues to stare, nearly-unblinkingly, at him with only his eyes and nose visible poking out of the roll of blankets.

Dean forces a wide, yet recognizably fake, grin. “Nah, man. Dreamin’ of babes and beaches all night long.”

 

Cas just passively blinks at him. He lets the act drop.

“You look like an over-stuffed burrito.”

That finally gets a reaction out of him and Dean tries not to smile as that familiar scowl makes its first appearance of the day.

 

“I am fairly positive this time, that there is no possible way to take that as a compliment.”

 

Now his smile comes more naturally, and he lifts his hands in mock defeat. “What can I say? You got me.”

 

Cas huffs, indignant, and tries to turn over to brush him off, but seems to get stuck on his back halfway through the action.

He’s clearly underestimated just how rolled up he’s gotten himself. Cas stills and pointedly blinks up at the ceiling in disdain, ignoring Dean’s growing smirk across the room.

Giving up on his endeavor to face the other way, he instead tries to throw the sheets off of him. He’s rolled tightly in two, and he only gets one halfway off before changing tactics again, and instead starts wriggling his way up the cot, kicking his feet inside the bundle for leverage.

Dean snorts in surprised amusement and tries to cover up his quiet chortling laughter with the back of his hand. Cas looks like a fed-up caterpillar that’s desperately changed its mind about being in a cocoon. He also can’t seem to decide if he wants to continuously glare at Dean or ignore his presence as a whole entirely.

He finally manages to free his arms from their impromptu prison and begins to half-army crawl the rest of the way out. Dean can easily spot the darkening blush on his face, even as he throws an annoyed “Let’s see you attempt to sleep on a concave surface and not get entangled” over his shoulder.

Dean just shakes his head, way too entertained at seeing the usually stoic man flustered and embarrassed. His glee cuts short though when Cas’ lower half is freed, revealing that his pants have slipped just a little too low on his waist and Dean quickly looks away, coughing.

He gives him a minute to situate himself and recover before glancing back. “Dude, did you swallow a dictionary or something?”

Castiel leans back against the wall, trying to even out his breathing and get rid of the annoying blush. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you talk like that?” He copies him and leans against the wall too, facing the room.

Cas drags his gaze back to him. “Like what?”

“Like…like, I don’t know!” Dean flounders. “Sometimes you sound like an essay some kid raped a thesaurus for to make his bullshit sound more interesting.”

Castiel oh-so-slowly tilts his head to the side, eyes squinting. “What?”

“You know,” He trails off and groans when Castiel obviously does not know. Dean can feel his own cheeks warm under Castiel’s amused but unending gaze.

“Tch, nothing. Just forget it.” He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Dean… sometimes you say very strange things.” And if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that that was a hint of a curious smile pulling at one side of those chapped pink lips.

“Yeah, says _you._ ”

Castiel’s quiet for a minute, but eventually utters, “I suppose I was just raised to speak this way.”

He snorts. “What, seriously?”

Cas nods. “Yes.”

“Like your parents taught you to do that?” Cas nods again. Dean’s slightly perplexed. “How? _Why_?”

Cas looks down at his hands, loosely interlaced in his lap. He’s quiet again for another minute and Dean feels a little wary that maybe he’s overstepped some boundary and has asked something somehow personal. Cas gives a half shrug, and slightly quieter than before says, “My family was not originally from here. English was my parent’s second language and I suppose mine as well, but I was so young that it might as well have been my first. My father took great pride in integrating here, and wanted to make sure I had a proper grasp on the language.” Castiel slightly smiles pensively down at where he’s fiddling his thumbs back and forth, “So yes, I probably spent a few too many nights sat in front of a dictionary when I was younger.”

Dean leans his head back and hums, “That sucks.”

“If you say so.”

Dean looks at him, and he doesn’t seem offended or anything. “What about school? I thought foreign kids, I don’t know, _blended_ or something when they got into school here young.”

“Well,” Now Cas looks like he’s starting to get uncomfortable talking about his past, and hey, okay, Dean gets that. He hadn’t exactly been shooting for any real talk, just lending off of the carefree mood they had somehow suddenly found themselves in, but if Castiel was actually making an attempt at continuing a conversation Dean wasn’t about to stop him. “I went to a very …private school. The tutors and teachers never exactly dissuaded me from using my vocabulary.”

Dean nods thoughtlessly. The atmosphere between them is still comfortable, and Dean’s glad for it. He doesn’t want to ruin it, so he thinks for a second and ends up back tracking a bit.

“So what country did your family come from?”

“Russia.”

Dean’s eyes widen a bit, “No shit?”

Cas glances at him and does that thing where the edge of his lip twitches slightly. “No, no…shit.”

And Dean chuckles again because god that sounded awkward coming from that mouth.

“Well if it makes you feel better, I couldn’t tell. You don’t have an accent or anything.”

Cas nods. “Like I said, I was very young when we moved here. I can’t remember anything from before being here. I’ve been told before that sometimes my speech can be a bit …stiff. I was never very concerned over it though. I always hoped that it would someday come in handy when I was ready to look for work.”

The conversation drifts off, Dean not knowing what to really say to that. Work careers aren’t exactly a pressing issue anymore.

It isn’t too long before a soft hum starts up, so familiar to Dean that he doesn’t even notice it. He instinctively closes his eyes and waits for the daylights to flip on, turning the inside of his eyelids a dark orange shade. Castiel hisses across from him.

“These seem like they would get annoying very quickly.”

Dean opens his eyes to see Cas scowling from underneath a hand, shading his face from the ceiling. He shrugs. “Yeah, I hated them with a passion at first, but you get used to them.”

Cas just scowls at the lit room harder.

 

 

 

Dean closes the door to the room again, sighing. This is the third time he’s checked to see if his brother was on his way. He’s hungry and it’s his day off, and despite the surprisingly good start to his day (minus the nightmare he’s already all but forgotten) he’s ready to go and do his own thing.

Castiel is in the small bathroom brushing his teeth, because apparently his brother was running a charity service off-the-books by means of their camp’s meager supplies. Ellen may or may not rip into him for that, and Dean’s not sure if he wants to be there to witness it when it happens.

“I understand your reasoning for staying, but if you are in a hurry, I assure you I won’t try to leave while you’re gone.” He turns around and Cas is leaning against the bathroom doorway, absently holding his arm by the elbow like it’s already become habit.

“That’s swell and all, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’d get my ass kicked if I left you here alone.” Dean eyes Cas’ form for a second, thinking, and makes a decision. “Come here.” He’s got nothing else better to do, so might as well do something productive. He walks over to the pile of blankets in the corner and picks one up that looks relatively clean. He waits until Cas wanders closer before holding it up to him. “Sniff this.”

Cas’ eyebrows slowly rise. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, sniff this. How bad does it smell?” A mixed look of suspicion and disgust dust his features before Cas leans the barest inch forward and superstitiously takes a whiff of the cloth. His disgust deepens and he leans back.

“Particularly bad.”

Dean huffs, rolls his eyes, and picks up a different one. “How about this?”

Cas haltingly repeats. “Not as bad, but it’s still unpleasant. Why am I doing this?”

Dean just picks up another clean one, holds it and the last one out. “Which one stinks the least?”

Cas sighs, exasperated, but leans in nonetheless. He tilts his head in thought before motioning towards the light blue sheet in hand. “That one.”

Dean nods and gets to work ripping it in half. Cas backs up in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up for a minute, wouldya?”

Cas glares at him, mouth screwing up into a hard line.

He rips it until it’s a satisfactory size and then approaches the other man. He slows his movements when Cas takes a quick step back away from him.

“…Seriously?”

Cas seems to analyze him for a moment before begrudgingly acquiescing and lets him approach, not seeming too particularly happy about it. Dean just gently grips his arm and slowly bends it at the elbow, blue orbs warily watching his every movement, and then pulls the blue fabric underneath and over the arm. To his surprise, Cas doesn’t question him again, even when he steps into his personal space and reaches behind his head to bring up both sides of the cloth until they lay over his opposite shoulder and begins to tie them into a tight double knot.

Dean steps back, hands on his hips. “There. Now you can stop acting like such a cripple.”

Cas glances down at his makeshift arm-sling, tests his mobility in it, and then meets Dean’s gaze again. Cas’ eyes seem to shine just a shade lighter and he looks like he’s trying, and failing, to hold back a look of gratitude. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean rubs the back of his knuckle absently across his eyebrow and glances away. “Yeah, sure, no problem.” He sighs, his whole chest puffing and deflating with the movement and makes another quick decision. To hell with it. “You hungry?”

Cas’ eyes widen in surprise, but he nods slowly. “Yes.”

“Good. Come on.” He walks to the door, opens it, but stops when he sees that the other isn’t following him. “You want food or what?”

Cas looks a little unsure. “I do, but…”

“What? You caused hell trying to get out of here the other day, but now you want to stay?” He huffs in mock disbelief. Cas squints at him.

“You said we were putting that incident behind us.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay… so I did. Look, _I_ want food. And Sam is taking his sweet ass time getting here so we’ll go and find him somewhere along the way.” He motions his head out the door. “As long as you’re with me, nobody should give you any problems.”

He finally gives in and joins him out in the hall, and thus starts Dean’s search for his morning grub.

 

 

They get a few odd looks thrown their way as they move through the halls, but Dean pretends not to notice them. They make it all the way to the dining room, Cas always just a few steps within his, before Dean’s plan backfires. Sitting behind the counter where breakfast sits, laid out for all in it’s sweet glory, is a glaring Ellen who is already set to work trying to laser a hole through his forehead via glare-beam-of-death.

Dean gulps, reminds himself that he is the proud owner of one large set of cojones, and powers on. “Hey, Ellen!” He grins and waves as he comes up to the counter, picking up a flat piece of bread he gestures it at her in over-cheerfulness. “It looks great.”

“It’s flavorless bread and scrambled eggs.” She deadpans back at him, not taking any of his bullshit. She pointedly looks behind him and back, takes a deep breath to calm herself, and leans forward on the counter, quietly hissing “Boy, what do you think you’re doing?”

Dean quickly shoves half the bread in his mouth and smiles innocently. “Wha’ya mean?” She stares head on, refusing to give into his antics. Dean glances behind him as if he’s just now noticing the completely-out-of-place Cas, who seems to be trying to convey strictly through pure body language that it was _not_ his idea to be there. Dean looks back at her, swallowing down his mouthful. “Oh! You mean him?”

Her jaw twitches, and before she can decide to deliver some serious bodily harm Dean raises his hands in defeat, dropping the act. “Relax, Ellen. We’re just getting some food.”

She shakes her head at him for a minute and then raises her eyes to the ceiling. “Sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with you, ya know that?”

He motions behind him for Cas to come closer and grins wider. “My day wouldn’t be complete if you didn’t.”

Castiel slowly approaches and walks up to stand next to Dean. “Hello, Ellen.” He speaks quietly, shoulders hunched the slightest bit.

Ellen eyes him, obviously distrustful but thankfully reels in her distaste a bit. “Hi.” Is all she returns.

Dean quickly grabs a plate and starts to fill it with as much as he thinks he can get away with. Only a few people are sitting at the bench tables across the room because it’s so early in the morning, and the rest of the camp still has to eat. The air is awkward and tense, even more so because Castiel looks like he’s on the verge of trying to say something to appease the pissed-off woman and Dean feels the need to intervene before this entire morning trip goes down in smoke. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to.

“Dean!” They turn just in time to see Sam half-jogging into the room behind them. “I was looking for you.” He looks between the three of them and seems to read the situation.

“Well, you found me. Grab something, we’ll walk and talk.” His brother quickly follows his orders, flashing a strained hello that Ellen just as tightly quips back.

 

Dean can finally breathe easily again when the three of them are back out in the connecting hall. “Well that was unpleasant. Where the hell were you man?” Dean passes a piece of toast over to an accepting Castiel, who thankfully had gotten the hint when Dean stacked his plate high, and had not grabbed anything for himself. Ellen probably wouldn’t have said anything but it was still best not to press their luck.

Sam eyes Castiel for a few seconds, his nostrils flaring a few times before he quickly looks away and down to his food. “Sorry, I overslept.” He mutters, holds the plastic plate up to his lips and shovels eggs in.

Dean takes in Sam’s somewhat disheveled and wrinkled appearance. He hasn’t changed out of his sleep ware yet and his hair is puffy on one side, obviously not mirror-checked. He raises a sly eyebrow at him, smirking. “Mm-hmm, and I wonder why.”

Sam chokes around his mouthful and turns a surprised glare on his brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I think you know. Which one was it?”

“Shut up.”

“I thought you looked a little antsy yesterday.”

Sam’s starting to sport an impressive blush, and he looks away. “I said, shut up.”

Dean doesn’t give in, and only smiles wider. “So, did Goldie-locks finally eat the porridge?”

He doesn’t know what’s funnier, Sam’s look of utter dismay and disgust or the completely lost and confused one he spots on Cas’ before he schools his face into one of mild indifference. Cas, on Dean’s right, is doing a very poor job of trying to pretend that he’s not listening and Sam seems even more mortified at having the conversation in front of the third party.

Sam gives him probably the best bitch-face of the week. “One, not that it’s any of your business, but no. And two, Jess is going to kick your ass to next Tuesday if she hears you talking about her like that.”

Dean huffs and swallows down a bite of his own eggs. “Oh, come on, Sammy! When are you going to kick that hag to the curb?”

Sam’s mood drops a few degrees, face suddenly more serious. “Don’t talk about her like that, Dean.”

Dean holds his fork hand up in defense, warding off Sam’s pending attack. Okay, so for the moment he’ll lay off of the fact that Sam is still sticking his dick in places that, in his brotherly opinion, it should not be. Specifically, anywhere within a five-foot radius of Ruby.

He stuffs a few more mouthfuls in, grabs the remaining piece of toast on top and shoves the remainder of the plate over into Cas’ empty hand. Sam gives a sympathetic look when Castiel warily eyes the plate like a puzzle, silently trying to figure out how to eat from it with only one hand. Sam gives his brother a poignant scowl, an unsaid _‘what the hell is wrong with you?’_ and walks over to help work the sling off his arm, ignoring Cas’ surprised start.

Dean just shrugs and hums happily around his toast. They’re only supposed to have one piece each but Ellen hadn’t noticed amongst the heated mood when he had snatched three.

“And what’s got you in such a good mood, hm?” Sam returns accusingly over his shoulder.

“What?” Dean stops short. “Nothing. Just… nothing. Can’t enjoy my day off?”

Sam gives him one of his ‘looks’, almost suspicious, but decides to let it go. “Yeah, okay.” They continue walking and Sam shoots a polite smile to Castiel whose still not said a single word the entire time. “And how are you, Cas? Want me to grab a different book before we go back in?”

Cas looks up and quickly swallows around what he’s finally managed to get to his mouth now that he can precariously balance the plate in his injured hand. “I’m fine. Are we… we’re going back to sit in the room?”

Sam’s eyebrows draw together. “Well, yeah. We still have a day until we can start working on getting you out of here.”

“Oh. Okay.” Cas looks down at his plate. Something’s obviously bothering him. Sam and Dean simultaneously come to a halt and after a few steps Cas does too, realizing that they’ve reached their destination. He looks at the closed door of the room for a second and then quickly turns to the brothers, the slightest tinge of urgency coloring his tone when he asks, “If I’m not supposed to know this camp's relative location, then how are you planning on driving me to mine?”

Dean looks up at the ceiling with a raised eyebrow as if in deep pensive thought. “Well, …we could always blindfold and hogtie you on the way out.”

Sam manages to kick Dean’s shin before his somber façade cracks into a playful one. “Ouch, you little bitch!”

“Quit being such a jerk.”

Cas looks between the two with a slightly fond expression, almost like he’s thinking of a good memory. Dean watches as something crosses his face and suddenly the upbeat look is gone, replaced with something somber. He wonders what Cas could possibly be thinking about.

 

“Is there any way…” He starts and stops, squares his shoulders and puts more force in his tone. “Can we do something else? Anything, besides sitting here doing nothing?”

 

Both of the Winchesters stop and glance at each other.

Sam’s the first one to speak. “I don’t know, Cas…”

“I wasn’t even really supposed to take you out this morning…”

He looks between the two of them, that slightly urgent look still in his eye. “Please? It’s driving me crazy, just sitting here. As long as I don’t know our location, what harm could it cause?” Dean takes a step away, giving this one to his brother. Now that he’s here, Cas isn’t his responsibility anymore. When Sam still appears like he’s trying to mentally word out his refusal, Cas continues, taking a step closer. “You said that you have chores you have to do, right? I could even help with those. Really, anything.”

Sam looks like he’s been backed into a corner by Cas’ open pleading expression and his face scrunches up, indecisive. Sam glances at his brother for help but Dean just snorts, shaking his head.

“Don’t look at me.”

 

Sam sighs, runs a hand through his messy hair and then hangs his head. “Fine. I guess. Fine. I mean, we’ve already pissed Ellen off once today, what’s one more, right?”

“Yeah right, of course.” Dean tries to hide his smirk when Sam glares at him through the bangs of his hair.

Cas slightly smiles, obviously grateful.

 

“Okay well,” Dean claps his hands in front of him and gestures to Cas. “Mazel tov to you.” Cas’ face slides from one of thankfulness to confusion in one flat movement. He turns to Sam. “And _you_ have fun with that.” His eyebrows rise, in a teasing bid of farewell to his scowling brother. Sam is no doubt going to have his ass chewed out by the end of the day, and as of five minutes ago, this is no longer Dean’s scene.

 

 

*

 

 

Not unsurprisingly, Dean’s great day off doesn’t end up being all that great.

They just don’t hold as much zeal as they used to back in the good ‘ole uninfected days. You can’t exactly go anywhere and there’s not really anything new to do that you can’t just get done any other day of the week. All it really means is that Dean can laze around all day long until his heart’s content without anyone getting on his ass about it.

Too bad Dean’s kind of a busybody down at said heart. He changes out of his sweatpants into worn Jeans and a soft green flannel, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and then makes his way aimlessly around the camp.

Everyone else is still either waking up and going about their morning routine or getting started on their day’s task. Benny still hasn’t come back from his ‘scouting’ or whatever the hell he’d called it before disappearing off the face of the earth without anyone’s permission, so Dean’s still making due without his favorite pal-around.

He was going to go and bug Jo, who no doubt was probably stalling around in the dining area by now, but when he turns down the hall to head there he’s met with the sight of Alastair and Met, an old guy who’d somehow weaseled his way into having as much authority as Ellen, standing close by each other, hunched over and in deep discussion. No. No way in hell is Dean walking through that. He turns around in med-step and gets the hell out of there.

Chuck’s stuck in the kitchen again until after lunch, so instead Dean makes his way to the wide office room that had been converted into one where they could plan out future renaissance and exploration endeavors. Maps, lists of supplies, and half-made schedules are tacked up all around the walls. Bobby, Garth, and Ash are already there when he walks in and Dean already knows that this is where he’ll be wasting his next few hours.

 

They sit and discuss all kinds of trivial things; what exact supplies they need to gather before Winter really hits, where all they’ve already gone and where left on the maps they still could go. They’re slowly running out of lone superstores and markets that are within driving distance and yet still far enough away from major living developments to raid. As of late, they’ve had to resort to searching out abandoned mom-and-pop shops by foot that were never remarkable enough to make it onto the listings of any actual roadside maps.

There’s still one Home Depot a few days drive from them, that he’s still holding out small hope for that it hasn’t already been stripped completely bare by others. A lot of the doors and light fixtures, and really their building as a whole, is starting to become worn down and tethered after so many months of constant use and they really need to get started on repairing their camp before it starts falling apart from right underneath them. And the jeeps. Dean doesn’t even want to _begin_ thinking about how much work needs to be done on the three vehicles before winter tries to rust them from the inside out.

“Maybe on the way back from dropping Cas off, assuming that we’ll be heading back towards the city, we can try to see if there’s anything left at this gas station.” He points to a small Gas N’ Sip that’s listed about two hours drive east of where they’d travelled the last time. It’ll suck to make the trip if nothings there, but it looks like it’s situated just on the edge of a small community that had just been starting to crop up before the break out, so maybe it hasn’t been completely ransacked yet.

Silence meets him for just a moment too long before Ash mutters “Yeah, that’s an idea.”

Dean looks up at the hesitant tone. “What? What’s wrong?”

 

Ash quickly shrugs and runs a hand through the back of his mullet. “Nothing. Just, are we still driving all the way out there just to drop that guy off?”

 

Dean’s mouth goes into a hard line. “Well yeah, that’s what we told him.”

“I’m just saying, that’s a lot of gas to use on some stranger whose done nothing but cause trouble since he’s been here.”

 

Dean scoffs a little and sits back “Ash, man, I know. But he was just freaked out when he woke up here. Cas has been cool ever since we convinced him that he’s got nothing to worry about. Besides, we promised him. Isn’t that right, Bobby?”

The trucker just mutters something that sounds like an agreement but he’s not looking up from the map laid out in front of them. Dean stares at him, a little indignant that he’s not getting any real back up from his old friend. Luckily, Garth takes his side.

“I think the quicker we get him out of here, the better. You know I’m not usually one for ditching people on the side of the road, but Jo’s head took a beating pretty dang hard. I don’t think I really want that guy hanging out around here any longer then he has to.” Garth has been getting pretty close to the young beta over the last few months, and he looks like he’s trying not to show how shaken up he is over Jo coming anywhere close to being hurt.

 

Dean leans forward, “Trust me, Cas doesn’t want to hang around here either, he’s been asking to leave every chance he gets, but we’re not ‘ditching’ him anywhere. We told him we’ll bring him back to his camp, and that’s what we’re gunna do. Maybe we can even get a glimpse of his camp, see what we’re dealing with here.”

Ash groans. “Yeah, that’s all fine and dandy, but we don’t even know where we’re dropping him off at. As it is, it’d be a two hour drive out towards the city, and another two hours out to that gas station from there. You’re looking at a minimum of eight hours of driving and for what? For us to _maybe not_ get ambushed while we’re out there?” Ash is normally one of the most laid back guys Dean knows, but he’s smart. And he gets stressed out sometimes now that he’s responsible for helping keep track of how much fuel and supplies they have left.

“Well if you have any other idea’s, I’m all ears.” He waits a second, eyebrow pointedly lifted at Ash’s silence. “Okay then. Then it’s a risk we’re just going to have to take. I’ll ask him where exactly he’s wanting us to go, and we’ll figure out our game plan from there. Sound good?”

Ash caves and nods his agreement. Bobby finally speaks up from his side of the table. “Lilith managed to get in through the radio this morning. They’re still about a day’s drive out, but they should still be here by nightfall tomorrow. We’ll unpack whatever they’ve gotten and then be set to leave the morning after. I assume you’ll be in the next outgoin’ party?” Bobby waits for Dean’s nod before continuing “Good. We’ll get this going as smooth as possible. Everyone whose just coming in should get a break for awhile, so pick whose goin’ with you from whoevers already still here.”

Dean clicks his tongue but doesn’t say anything. That doesn’t really leave him many options. Granted, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to pick anyone from the incoming trip anyways considering it’s Azazel and Lilith, two people that Dean actively tries to avoid, Ezekiel, who only joined their group about three months ago on Met’s assistance, and some new poncy douche they’d picked up off the side of the road about two weeks back. The last two Dean could have probably stomached but his options of people he’d actually want to voluntarily hang out with are slowly dwindling.

Jo and Gordon are injured, he’d rather _not_ sit in a car with Ellen and Cas at the same time with how geared up she is right now, and Ruby? He’d rather cut his own ears off then listen to her snide remarks in an enclosed vehicle all day long. Same goes for Meg. And Alastair? No fucking thank you.

“How about you guys? Any of you feel like taking a little road trip?” He smiles in false hope but he already knows the answer. Bobby has too many responsibilities here to just up and leave and Garth and Ash have both become uncomfortable with leaving unless they absolutely have to. A lot of people have. The camp is split up between people who stay and do their own thing and those of who volunteer to leave the safety of the camps walls. Their camp is about thirty people strong now, but Dean’s only really close with the half that are still in his ring of friends. Most of whom just coincidently happen to be people he’d first arrived here with.

It was a lot more easier to get traveling parties together a year ago, but after so many deaths and trauma, a lot of people have lost the spirit and motivation to go anywhere out of their little man-made safety zone. At least he can still count on his brother to watch his back out in Croat country. Chuck will probably tag a long too if he bugs him enough.

Dean sighs. “Okay well, I guess I’ll just have to make due. Sure Cas will be glad to hear we’re makin’ the plans to leave though.”

Ash and Garth both look at him a little weird but when he asks what’s on their minds neither of them say anything.

“Speaking of, how’s that kid doing?” Bobby opens up a small cooler next to him, and bless his old trucker soul, pulls out three beers. He slides one to Dean and Ash, it still being a little too early for Garth to want to join in on the fun, and buckles himself down into a chair with a loud groan.

“Cas? He’s fine I guess. I don’t think I fucked up his arm too bad.” He shrugs and pops the cap off his beer. He takes a long pull of the bitter liquid. “He was a bit of a mouthy ass at first, but ever since he’s calmed down, he’s not so bad.”

“And he still hasn’t said anything about his camp? At all?”

 

Dean hums at Garth, frowning. “No, not a word. Doesn’t seem to want to talk about it.”

“Hm. Wonder why.”

Dean just shrugs in answer. Their guess is as good as his.

 

“Maybe he’s killed them all and now he’s just trying to keep us from finding out.” Ash makes a ‘spooky’ howling noise and wiggles his fingers at them ominously across the table. Dean snorts in surprise mid-gulp and has to wipe the resulting beer from his chin with the shoulder of his sleeve.

“Aw, dude!” Ash just laughs harder at his misfortune. After they quiet down, Ash takes notice of how Garth isn’t exactly participating in the light mood. He nudges him with edge of his boot.

“And what’s your deal?”

 

Garth shakes his head, a small smile on his face, but it’s strained like it’s only there from habit. “I just… don’t think you guys should really poke fun at the guy until we know his story. I mean, it’s like you said, he doesn’t seem to really want to talk about his camp. Ellen said we might not even be dropping him off _at_ a camp. It’s totally possible that something bad did happen.” Garth’s not one to quiet his opinion just because the others in the room are giving him hard stares so he continues on, scratching a bit at the scruff he likes to call a beard. “I wasn’t there when you found him, but from what I’ve heard he was in a pretty rough shape when you did, right?”

“Yeah…” Dean looks down into the rim of his bottle.

“Then something must’ve went down. Maybe his camp _is_ dead, or he got separated, or god forbid, they left him behind.” Garth’s voice trails off, and the room is quiet.

Because what the hell are any of them supposed to say to that? Thank you Garth, for officially ruining any good vibe they had any chance of starting.

“And not to mention the whole omega thing.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Dean’s even taken a little off-guard himself with how quick the question escapes him. Ash and Garth both look at him with slightly widened eyes. Bobby just props his feet up on his little cooler, opting for staying out of the conversation.

Garth seems to struggle with finding words. “Well, you know…they’ve just been kinda gone. And the way the old camps used to react when we asked about them, well… I just don’t think they’ve been having the best of luck is all I mean.” He awkwardly looks away, trying to end the conversation that _he_ had started.

They all sit in a tense silence for a minute before Bobby breaks it, muttering. “I agree.” He doesn’t clarify on which part he actually agrees on, but he continues with, “Which is just more reason to get him back to wherever he’s going. Kids’ obviously not comfortable here, and we don’t need any more reason for confrontation to start up around here. S’just best if we get him out before anyone starts getting any stupid ideas.”

 

Dean’s forehead creases to match his deepening frown. “What do you mean?”

 

Bobby just side-eyes him before he takes a long pull of his own beer. “Pretty sure you can figure out what I mean, Idjit.” His answer is low, gritty. “I know you all like to think that our camp is some little beacon of light amongst all the others, but I’ve got news for you. Everyone has a dark side. And I’m not exactly wanting to test the waters to see how far we can go before our own people start flipping.”

 

Bobby’s ominous words leave the air heavy and the three other men in the room shift, uncomfortable. Well this dark conversation came a bit out of left field.

 

Dean doesn’t even try to pretend that he’s not running away from the awkward conversation. "Right. I’m a… I’m gunna go get lunch.” He breathes a reason for a quick getaway and stiffly pushes away from the table. This is so not how he wanted to spend his day off.

 

 

*

 

 

“Everyone is staring at me.” Castiel utters quietly, gripping the folded towels in his arm tighter. It’s getting fairly late in the day and Sam and him are finishing making rounds through the halls, dropping off articles of cloth at various rooms. They’d started out the day by sitting in a room full of clothing, Sam saying he was supposed to try to sow some ripped garments back together.

Castiel had tried his hand at patching a few up but it wasn’t really his forte. While he’d spent almost a good hour trying to mend a wide hole in a random pants leg, Sam had fixed up three shirts, a sweater, and a pair of jeans. After doing that for a while, Sam had brought him to their ‘laundry room’, which really was just a bare concrete room with two very large metal bins of soapy water situated on either side of a lone wide pipe drain in the middle of the floor.

 _“There’s a hose that runs in here from outside, we fill up the bins with fresh water once a week and drain them to who-knows-where. One’s filled with detergent and the other’s mostly clean water. Afterwards, we wheel the clothes up outside to hang and dry.”_ Sam had explained how they used the waist high bins. It was a bit of an unorthodox method, but Castiel supposed it was a good way to save on soap and water. They’d dropped off the newly mended clothes and picked up as many towels and washcloths as they could carry, Sam toting a huge net-bag on his back filled with them. _“Now we have to drop these off. Everyone gets new towels at the end of the week and we pick up dirty ones at the start of the next one.”_

 

“It’s only because you’re new.” Sam finally returns.

“No, I think it’s more then that.” Castiel glances back over his shoulder just to see three people quickly glance away from him. The camp is alive, everybody out and about and he’s trying very hard to ‘just act natural’ as Sam had told him to.

It’s hard though, the halls are crowded and Castiel can feel every pair of eyes like light pin needles on his back. And no matter how hard he tries not to, he can’t help noticing how an uncomfortable amount of them inconspicuously sniff at the air as he passes by.

He raises an arm and lightly sniffs at his armpit. Grimacing, he quickly lowers it. So he doesn’t smell all that great, but everything considered, it can’t be _that_ bad.

 

Sam stops at the next door and thumps loudly on it. “Towels!” After a few seconds, it opens, and an older man answers to take the bundle from him. Before he closes it though, the man pauses and sniffs at the air. His eyes slide to Castiel behind Sam, and he looks him up and down with an eyebrow lifted.

“And who’s this?”

“Bye Jake.” Sam replies instead of answering and just turns to continue down the hall. Castiel quickly follows, leaving the man unanswered at the door.

 

“Do I smell?” Castiel asks quietly before Sam can repeat his process.

He pauses, hand lifted in mid-air, and glances at Cas before looking away. He thumps on the next door before he shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe. I don’t know.” Nobody answers, so Sam tries the handle and when it opens, he throws a towel inside before continuing on.

Castiel squints at his broad back. “What do you mean ‘you don’t know?’ It’s a simple enough question. Do I stink?”

 

Sam sighs. “You don’t stink, Cas.” He finally pauses and looks at him. “But,… you do smell though, I guess. Obviously.”

He tries to start walking again but Cas steps in front of him. “Obviously?”

“Well, yeah.” Sam glances around at the others in the hall, many of whom quickly glance away when he meets their eyes. He leans forward and lowers his voice. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just… you kind of stick out. I can smell you.” He steps around him and walks on.

Castiel, confused, almost stops him again before realization dawns on him. He spins in a quick half circle and glares when someone a few feet away once again tries to appear like they weren’t staring.

A small embarrassed blush creeps onto his face and he quickens his steps to catch up with the young alpha. When they get to another door that has no answer and nobody is immediately near, Cas leans close again and almost frantically hisses, “You mean… you can smell _me_? That… that I’m an Omega?!” He hates saying the word. They still sound almost silly to him, but the terms hold a meaning now that they never did before.

Sam looks away, shifting uneasily. “Yeah.” He throws a towel into the room and then grabs the bundle from Castiel. They turn down a less occupied hall before he stops again. “It’s not that big of a deal. I just don’t think anyone’s used to it, is all. I don’t even think I realized I could smell it before because I was sitting with you all day.”

 

Sam spots someone peeking at them from around the corner of the last hall and he glares until they duck away. All the unwanted attention is quickly becoming annoying for the both of them. He meets Cas’ uncomfortable gaze. “It’s just noticeable when you first walk up though. I think it’s become more… apparent ever since you showered all that dirt off of you.” Sam watches as Cas grabs the front of his own shirt and pulls it up to sniff at it. He lets it go, shaking his head and looking a little self-conscious.

“I can’t smell anything.”

Sam shrugs in a helpless gesture. “There’s no reason to fret over it though, they’re just curious. They’ll get used to it, get bored, and get over it soon enough.” He gives him a reassuring smile and waits for Cas’ shoulders to finally relax before he turns to finish the job.

 

 

Four more rooms and they’re finally done. Admittedly, Castiel was right, Sam enjoyed being mobile more today then the slow moving still hours of the day before.

 

They stop by the bathroom and then Sam walks with Cas towards the dining area. It’s late and almost time for Sam to switch out with someone else for the night. Before they get there though, they cross paths with Dean, whose holding two paper brown bags with a triumphant smile.

 

He grins and throws each of them one. “I’ve been looking for you two everywhere. Thought I'd have to start gathering a search party.” Dean motions for them to turn around and walk the other way while he joins them. They start heading back towards the holding room. “Chicken sandwiches for dinner once again. Last time we have to stomach it down, thank god.”

 

Castiel’s stomach growls and he hums around the sandwich when he bites into it.

 

“Please, you know you’re going to bitch non-stop as soon as we have to go two days without it.” Sam waves his meal in Dean’s direction and the other snorts.

“Honestly by this point, I’m almost looking forward to the shitty rabbit food.”

 

“Rabbit food?” Cas asks, eyebrow lifted. He’s finds that he’s almost become comfortable around the two alpha’s over the last two days. Their easy banter around each other is almost soothing, reminding him of his friends at school back when all of his worries were only centered around his grades and his future.

 

“Fruits. Vegetables. Anything tasteless we can manage to pull from the ground or still hasn’t expired from a can.” Dean clarifies with a disgusted pout. He points to their dinner. “We have a chicken coup not that far from here, but a tree fell down on it a few days ago. We’ve been eating the unlucky bastards non-stop ever since. We could probably go a whole year without eating another one of those feathered rats, and it’d still be too soon.” Sam chuckles beside his brother, shaking his head.

 

Dean continues with pensive eyes on the ceiling. “You know what I could _really_ go for?” He sighs dreamily and answers without waiting. “A juicy double-cheeseburger. With bacon. Lots and lots of bacon.”

Castiel’s mouth waters even with food already stuffed in. He swallows and mutters, “I miss cheeseburgers.”

Dean folds his hands above his head and smiles sideways at him. “Yeah?”

Cas nods. “Yes. They were my favorite.”

 

“Sam.”

Their walk’s interrupted by a female’s voice behind them. They turn and Cas see’s a pretty brunette leaning against the wall. “Come here.” Castiel watches as the brothers glance at each other, Dean with an odd accusing look and Sam glaring back. The girl makes a ‘come hither’ motion impatiently.

“I’ll see you guys later, alright? Night Cas.” Sam waves and Cas returns it. He jogs down the hall and together, him and the girl walk the other way. Castiel gives a small start when Dean scoffs loudly beside him.

 

“For being such a nerd, he can be a real dumb fuck sometimes.”

“Sam?” Cas is surprised to hear Dean talk about his brother in such a way.

Dean just hums, nodding, and turns around to continue on.

 

“You do not like that woman?” He ventures.

Dean just shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter what I think of her. Ruby’s not all bad though, I guess.”

 

They’re quiet for a while, walking at a slow leisured pace, until a question that’s still been burning in the back of his mind finally surfaces. “Dean?”

“Yeah Cas?”

“…You can smell me, correct?”

Dean stumbles mid-step and looks at him with wide eyes. “W-what do you mean?”

Cas rolls his. “You don’t have to pretend that you can’t. It’s fairly apparent that most everyone can.” He forces himself not to look away, refusing to be embarrassed over the fact. “I was just wondering… how noticeable it is? I can’t smell myself. Everything here is just layered in… your camps smell.” He changes the ending to his sentence at the last second. “When I first woke up here, my nose almost burned with it. My scent…can’t be nearly as potent, right?”

Dean on the other hand, suddenly can’t seem to meet his gaze. He lifts a shoulder in an overly casual shrug. “Nah, barely noticed it until you said something.”

 

“Really?”

 

Dean’s face scrunches up and he tilts his head in a thoughtful manner. “Mm…sure.” Castiel glares at the back of his head when he turns and quickly takes a few steps forwards.

 

Before Cas can argue the question any further Dean suddenly pauses and does a 180 spin in place, facing him again. “…Hey, by the way, our jeep is going to be in by tomorrow afternoon. So where will our lovely taxi service be dropping you off by?”

 

Cas blinks, taken completely off-guard by the sudden switch in conversation. “Um.” He looks down at his arm, braced neatly in the light blue sling. After a second, he mutters, “…We’ll have to go back towards the city.”

“Well no shit, but _where_?”

 

Dean narrows his eyes at Cas’ sudden lost look. “…I’m… not … quite sure. It can’t be too far from where you found me.”

 

“You got a name of a county? A street? Anything?” Cas’ lips open once, twice, floundering quickly for words and Dean crosses his arms. “You _do_ have a camp over there, right? You’re not going to just go running back into the city all suicidal on me or something, are you?”

 

Castiel quickly shakes his head. “No! ...no. I’m just not sure where it is…without looking at the area. Once we get there, I’ll know.” His eyes take on a sharp glint. “And of course I have a camp. How many more times are you going to ask me that?”

“Okay, …fine! You can’t blame me for wanting to make sure. It’s a long ass drive for us, considering we’re going out there with a blind-eye. And just so you know, If you’re leading us on a wild goose chase, I think I’m legally bound to kick your ass.”

 

Castiel’s jaw twitches and suddenly the timid lost look on his face bleeds into something much more serious. He squares his shoulders and tilts his head, an angry scowl on his lips. “It is not a ‘goose-chase’. I’m not leading you anywhere. You are taking me back to where we met. Before I was _taken_ here without my permission.”

Dean raises his hands and takes a step back. “Jesus Cas, I’m just messing with you. Calm down.”

“I don’t find it humorous.”

And just like that, Dean feels the light mood drop into a more sour one. “Well I can _see_ that now, thanks.”

 

They both huff and the rest of their walk is done in an annoyingly tense silence. Dean glances at the other multiple times as they go, wanting to say something to pacify the others sudden irritation, but he doesn’t really feel like apologizing just because the other man is suddenly feeling testy. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know what offends him and what doesn’t. And Castiel refuses to look back at him as they walk.

 

They reach the holding room but before Cas can go inside Dean steps in front of him, one hand stretched out across the doorway to block his path. Screw this. He's not letting it just drop.

 

“You’re seriously going to make us drive you all the way back there, without even telling us why you were in the city by yourself? Without telling us anything?” He’s exasperated about the whole subject already. But he hates not knowing. His curiosity is _eating away at him._

 

“Yes.” Cas gives him a challenging look, waiting for Dean to threaten to not take him back. To go back on his word.

 

Dean just stares back and then shakes his head, frustrated. “You still don’t trust us. Why? We’ve been nice enough. We’ve given you food, a place to sleep, and we’re bringing you back without asking for anything in return.” He spreads his hands out wide to either side. “So why? Why are we still somehow the bad guys?”

 

He waits. And waits. Castiel’s jaw twitches again before he finally says with conviction, hard blue eyes boring into baffled green ones, “A few good deeds does not make you a good person. I do not know you and you certainly do not know me. I owe you nothing.”

He takes a step forward, making as if to brush past Dean, but Dean doesn’t move out of the way. He should. Their banter took a steep dive into arguing somewhere along the way and Cas has made it clear that he wants the conversation to be over. But he doesn’t want it to end like this.

 

“Well, of course I don’t! How am I supposed to ever get to know you if you never actually talk?” Cas tilts his head at him and waits for him to continue. He does so, slightly quieter than he was before. “You respond when you have to, sure, but for the most part you never actually _say_ anything.” He doesn’t know where he’s going with this, but it came a bit out of the blue, this feeling. Like he needs to know _something_ about this mysterious man that suddenly popped up into their lives with quite the literal bang, before he leaves forever, never to be seen again. “Why don’t you like to talk?”

“Why do you feel the need to fill every silence?” Castiel returns and he waits for Dean to open his mouth but nothing comes out. Damn. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

 

This time Cas does push past him, knocking his arm out of the way and shoving the door open. Dean’s still trying to come up with a comeback, someway to turn it back towards Cas’ avoidance without making it sound like Dean’s side-stepping his own, when he walks right into Castiel’s stiff back.

 

He’s paused, right inside the doorway, and Dean looks over his shoulder to see why. Alastair is inside, sitting casually on the bed. At the sight of their entrance, he stands and walks over.

“What are you doing in here?” Dean steps around Cas and crosses his arms.

 

He hums. “Waiting for you to finally arrive. I knew you had a streak for being late, Dean-o, but I have to admit two hours is a little impressive.” Alastair’s crooked face smiles at him but all it does is lower Dean’s mood even further. He doesn’t care why Alastair has apparently been sitting there for hours, he just wants to know what will make him disappear the fastest.

“Let me clarify. What. Do. You. Want?”

Alastair sighs. He bends over and picks up a bundle of blankets off the floor. They’re the ones Dean had used the night before and the bed has been redone again. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Winchester. I’m just here for my shift.” He tosses the bundle into Dean’s arms and he barely catches it in his confusion.

“Your shift?”

Alastair looks at him like one would when amused by a child. “Yes, Dean. My shift. I’m to stay in here with Castiel tonight.” He pauses to throw a smile at the quieter man. Cas gives a polite nod back. He turns back to Dean. “Ellen says you should rest up since you’re leading the next trip out. We both assumed I wouldn’t be traveling with you.” The polite sarcastic tone grates on his ears.

Dean scoffs. “I don’t need any more ‘rest’. I’ve been ‘resting’ all damn day and we’re not leaving until the day after tomorrow anyways.” He hadn’t talked to Ellen after breakfast. To be honest, he hadn’t even considered that he wouldn’t be expected to sit with Castiel again tonight.

“We’re not?” Cas finally pipes up behind him. Dean turns just to see that familiar distrustful scowl being thrown his way. “You said your jeep was arriving tomorrow.” Cas accuses and Dean’s head begins to throb

“It is. But we have to unload what they bring in and pack up for the next trip out. We’re not going to try leaving here in the middle of the damn night. That’d just be _asking_ for trouble.”

Cas just seems to get even more irritated. Dean wants to groan. There’s just no winning with him. Instead, he sighs and then flinches when Alastair’s voice drawls from right over his shoulder.

 

“Is there a problem here, Winchester?”

 

Dean looks between the smarmy Beta and the glowering Omega and feels the blood in his veins heat. Fine, if Castiel wants to be an ass, then he can take his bad attitude and throw it at Alastair’s cocky face all night. “Nope.” He clenches the bundle more tightly in his hands and looks pointedly at the shorter man.

 

“It’s alright with you, Cas? If Alastair stays in here tonight?” His voice is tight, but it gets the desired effect across. He’s not actually asking.

Castiel grits his teeth but gives one short nod. “Fine with me.”

 

They stand there for probably a minute too long, Castiel and Dean glaring at each other, before Dean shrugs his shoulders indifferently. “Fine.” He looks away. And maybe he’s being a little petulant when he turns at the door to throw back a sarcastic, “I’m sure you two will have a fucking blast.”

 

Alastair opens his mouth, to no doubt say something maddeningly annoying, but Cas beats him to it with a short simple, “Goodnight Dean.” And somehow Cas taking the high road with his stupid politeness is far more infuriating then anything Alastair could have come up with. Dean, obviously dismissed, barely keeps himself from slamming the door on his way out.

 

 

 

He almost contemplates going and trying to find someone to drink with, have a few beers to calm down with, but his moods ruined and he doesn’t feel like talking to anyone else right now. Instead he goes straight to his room and flings the bundle of blankets into a corner.

 

It’s not that late, probably only eight or nine at night, but he doesn’t even try fooling himself into doing anything else but lying in bed and going to sleep. He undresses down to his boxers and climbs into the familiar sheets. He’s missed his own bed anyways and it feels so much better to be lying down without an extra layer of clothes on.

 

He probably punches his pillows a bit too hard, and a few too many times, before he finally finds a position that’s comfortable enough to stay in.

He lies there with the lights off, waiting for his blood to cool down and his spoiled mood to drift off. He’s upset that he feels upset. He shouldn’t be. He should be happy to finally be in his own bed, in his own room. It doesn’t help that his room smells odd. At first he thinks it’s because the air is a little stale after barely being used for only two days, but after a few minutes he begrudgingly realizes that he’d already gotten used to Castiel’s stupid sweet scent tainting everything at night. That just reawakens his bad mood and he turns over and squeezes his eyes shut.

Stupid omega. They’d started the day out nice enough. Dean has been nothing but pleasant and he just had to go and ruin it over nothing. And where the hell does Cas get off saying Dean may or may not be a good man? That’s not something Cas gets to decide. That’s about the only thing Cas _did_ get right. He doesn’t know Dean.

 

Maybe Dean _will_ try to push the outgoing trip up to tomorrow night. Croatoans and other Camps be damned. If Cas really is that upset over possibly being here for one more friggin' night, then who is Dean to make him? The faster the omega leaves, the fucking better.

 

It takes Dean a good forty-five minutes before his sulking finally blends into a light snoring.

 

 

That night, Dean’s dreams are fretful and full of distressing, barely-there images. He tosses and turns for hours before finally drifting off into a deeper slumber.

 

Only then do his dreams take an odd unfamiliar turn. Instead of reliving hypersensitive memories or possible terrifying futures that normally involve loosing his brother in some horrific unmentionable way, he dreams of chasing.

 

...He chases something, though he’s not quite sure what. Only that it is his, and it’s escaped him, and he needs to get it back. He needs to track it down and seize it before anyone else gets the chance to. Before it’s lost to him too.

It’s something he needs. Something almost more important then eating or breathing and it _belongs_ to him and he needs it back. He runs harder, following some invisible trail in the empty dark that he can’t see but knows is there. His blood pumps harder and his breathing becomes shallower and an exciting thrill runs up his back because he knows that he’s getting close. His sides tingle and his fingers flex with the knowledge. He runs harder, his legs propelling him faster and further.

His legs begin to burn with it but he can’t stop because it will get away and he’s so, so close. He knows. It’s right there and with his heart in his throat, he lunges for it. Finally, _finally_ he catches it.

 

His hands clamp down around it with a vice-like grip and his spirit sings in victory. He’s caught it. It’s his. He _caught_ it and now he doesn’t have to worry about losing it because it’s _his_ and nobody else will ever—

 

Dean wakes up.

 

He breathes out harshly into his quiet dark bedroom, nerves tingling. The huff of his breathing sounds too loud, along with the adrenaline pumping in his veins. He’s laying half on his stomach, clenching a pillow tightly beneath him and he can feel sweat on his brow and pooling on his back. He’s hard.

He exhales loudly and presses his head tightly into the pillow below him, groaning. His heart is still racing and there’s a phantom energy in his bones from the not-hunt.

He’s almost too used to waking up with ragers, but normally they follow after a pleasant dream full of warm hands and wet tongues and nice curves. Not ones that takes place in the dark, all alone. Much less, while obsessively chasing something unknown down. And it doesn’t feel like a I-got-too-excited-while-doing-physical-activities boner.

He shifts his hips and groans again when he rubs himself up against the mattress. He’s almost painfully hard. No, that had definitely _felt_ like a wet-dream. A very weird, high-strung, wet dream.

He sighs again and snakes his hand down to his boxers, already settling in for taking care of his problem the good old fashioned way. It’s been a few days since he really had the privacy to do so and he plans to enjoy every minute of it.

He’s barely touched himself, hand barely grazing his dick, before what he feels sets alarm bells off blaring in his head. He jumps up in shock and twists over to sit on his butt. He yanks his boxers down with jerky hands, nearly causing harm to the area with the haste of it, and he stares down in the dim dark at his own prick.

There, at the base of his hard dick, is a bump. There is a bump. On his dick. An unfamiliar, large, and highly unwelcome bump.

….On his fucking dick.

“Oh, what the fuck.”

 

Dean sits there in the dark, staring down at his own body with wide disbelieving eyes, terrified that he’s somehow contracted some weird STD that he’s absolutely never heard of, for what must be nearly half an hour before some odd distant conversation he must have overheard somewhere in his years previous comes bubbling up into the forefront of his mind.

Suddenly he knows what’s wrong with him. He’s overheard the terms before but he never took them seriously. Sam’s voice from three days ago, which is not very welcome at this exact point in time, reverberates in the back of his head.

_“…It’s only a matter of time before something causes the hormones to kick back in.”_

Dean gulps and his hands tighten on either side of his thighs, like he’s afraid to move them any closer to his current problem.

 

Dean Winchester has officially developed his very first knot.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Day three: Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost split this chapter up into 3 separate parts just so I could update more often. I might make future chapters smaller instead of these long ones. 
> 
> Feel free to bug me on my Tumblr
> 
> neverendingmisha.tumblr.com

 

 

 

 

 

            Castiel was grateful when Alastair gave him space after Dean had left. He wasn’t happy with the sudden news of his delayed departure. He’d been told constantly that he would only have to wait two, maybe three, days and now it would be stretching into a fourth? What if it stretched into a fifth? A sixth? He couldn’t waste his time here. And it seemed he had only found out by a slip of the tongue. Had Dean even been planning on telling him? Or did they think he would just somehow magically forget the time-schedule they’d given him? If they we’re going to go back on their word and not drive him back, then they should just _let him go_. He’ll make his own way there.

 

            He’d already wasted so much precious time by being trapped in the city. He needed to get back, needed to backtrack his steps, and start _searching._

 

            The others….they could be dead. Balthazar, Gabriel, Samandriel…he needed to be out there looking for them.

 

            And Anna… he didn’t even want to contemplate her being anything but alive, safe and sound. He needed to get back to her. His sister probably thought him dead, and the idea of that just made his stomach turn acrid. Sitting here, without a clue as to knowing what was happening to her, without knowing what _had_ happened to her…it really was driving him crazy.

 

 

            His body has mostly recuperated, or at least as much as he needs it to. The cut on his hip was looking better and the yellow bruises on his stomach were already turning to a natural purple. He was beginning to get feeling back into his arm and his legs only slightly held the ache that they did before. Soon enough, all he would need is a proper weapon and he would be ready to face the world again. All of this constant food was giving him a natural kind of energy he hadn’t felt in weeks, maybe even months.

 

            And yet, here he was, just sitting on this cot, mindlessly leafing through the book Sam had given him before. He barely keeps himself from bouncing his knee in irritation.

 

            “What are you reading there?”

 

            Castiel glances up, a little startled. They’d been sitting in silence for almost an hour and with his thoughts, he’d almost forgotten that he still had company. It was a little odd, seeing Alastair sitting on the bed across from him instead of Dean.

 

            He held up the book, cover facing outward for him to see. “Sam gave it to me.”

 

            “You don’t seem to be enjoying it very much.” Alastair smiled, pen paused over the notebook he was writing in. So far, Alastair and Sam seemed to be the most pleasant people he’d met in the camp. Jess wasn’t so bad. And Dean… well, he’d had his moments.

 

            “It’s not something I would personally pick.” He turned the book in his hands a few times. “But it’s not so bad.”

 

            “Mm…It’s too bad I don’t have any others with me to give you instead.” Alastair apologizes. “But-…” Alastair sets his notebook aside and walks to the end of the bed. He picks up a backpack that he seems to always carry around with him. He shakes it with a thin eyebrow raised. “I did bring you something else.”

 

            Castiel’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Oh no, it’s quite alright. You don’t need to give me anything.”

 

            Alastair ignores him and unzips the bag, pulling out a bundle of clothes. “Don’t worry, it’s not anything special. Just thought you’d like a new pair.” He walks over and sets them down next to Castiel. They look to just be an identical match to what he already had on. Alastair doesn’t move away when he sets them down, instead he leans an arm leisurely against the cot beside him. “They don’t belong to anybody. We have a pile of them laying around, just waiting to be claimed.”

 

            Castiel doesn’t make any move to grab them. “Honestly, it’s alright. These are perfectly fine.” He grabs the front of the white scrub shirt he’s currently wearing for emphasis. “They just gave these to me yesterday.”

 

            “Yes…” Alastair rolls his head to the side. “But now you’ve been wearing them for two days straight. Wherever you’re going when you leave here, I get the feeling you won’t be having many chances to change into something new.” The knowing look he charges Cas with makes him uncomfortable. He feels his heart beat the slightest bit faster and he tries to keep his face schooled into one of cluelessness.

 

            “I don’t know what you mean by that-”

 

            “Here.” Alastair interrupts him. He picks up the pile and pointedly sets them down on Cas’ lap, his hand lingers there for a moment too long. “Everybody likes the feeling of fresh clothes. Go on.” He tilts his head to the bathroom, leaving Castiel no choice but to follow his advice lest he seem needlessly rude.

 

            He hops down and makes his way slowly to the bathroom. He can feel Alastair’s eyes on his back. He doesn’t like the possible underlying meaning in Alastair’s words. How would he have any idea as to whether or not Castiel would have a change of clothes waiting for him when he leaves? Why was everyone so annoyingly interested in where he was going?    

 

            He closes the door behind him and sets to work changing his clothes. He hadn’t been lying; the ones he currently wore were perfectly fine. Not a single stain or grain of dirt had had the chance to get on them yet, and after wearing his grimy, tattered get-up for weeks beforehand, he doubted that he would have even noticed if they had. But if it would make the other man happier, then why not?

 

             He emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, wearing garments that were just a shade grayer then the ones he had before. He stops short though when he sees that Alastair is now lounging on his cot, busy reading the back cover of his book. He stands a little awkwardly, not knowing where to go. He goes and drops his previous clothes on the floor beside his bed and Alastair looks up at him, smiling.

 

            “See? Isn’t that better?” Castiel doesn’t feel any different, but he nods nonetheless. He doesn’t move to sit back on his cot, and he doesn’t want to sit on the bed, so he just stands there. It doesn’t seem to bother the other man though. A few minutes pass by before he starts to shift in place.

 

            “Is there something bothering you, Castiel?”

 

            He shakes his head, though his body language may be a bit impatient. He wants the other to move. Though a question does surface to his mind after a moment. “Actually, may I ask you something?” He might as well, while he had the chance.

 

            “Hmm?”

 

            “Why don’t the Winchesters like you?”

 

            Alastair’s shoulders slightly slump, like he’s disappointed in the question. He tosses Castiel’s book to the side. “Well, you’re a very straight-forward person, aren’t you?” Castiel nods and the other sighs. He seems to wear an act of indifference, but Castiel can see a tensed line in his shoulders when he finally moves to get up off the cot.

 

            Alastair sits back on his bed and picks back up his notebook before he finally says, “I’m afraid Dean-o has never really liked me very much. ‘never really appreciated my company, so to say. Sam’s dislike for me on the other hand, is fairly new.” He drawls, like he’s bored with topic. Castiel climbs back up onto his own bed while he listens. “I’m sure we’ll learn to get along again eventually though.” He hums, scribbling away in his book. That doesn’t answer Castiel’s question though.

 

            “But _why-”_

“-I don’t know why.” Alastair interrupts him, an annoyed furrow in his brows. His pen scratches hard against the paper and he mutters, nearly under his breath, “Probably because the Winchester’s like to put blame where they have no right putting it.”

 

 

            Castiel’s confused. He clearly sees that the conversation is starting to upset him, but all Alastair’s done so far is raise more questions. When Castiel speaks, it’s quieter. “…Did something happen-?“

 

            “Nothing happened!” He snaps, once again cutting Castiel off. He’s scowling hard at the paper, pen clenched tightly in his hand. Castiel leans back, startled by the harshness of his tone.

 

 

             The beta breathes deeply through his nose, calming himself. When he finally looks back up, the same natural smile he wore throughout the day is back in place. “Let’s change the subject, hm?”

 

            Cas glances away, a little unnerved by the pleasant tone after such an outburst. He mindlessly thinks for a moment and eventually mutters “…What are you writing?”

 

            Alastair slowly closes his eyes with a shallow sigh. That obviously wasn’t the right thing to say either. “It’s a list.” Is all he states.

           

            Castiel has no desire to try and continue the conversation, so he doesn’t respond. The silence is abrupt and unyielding. Alastair goes back to writing and Castiel stares off at the far wall.

 

 

 

            Thankfully, the lights flicker and turn over to their dim counterpart only a few minutes later and Castiel quickly uses it as an excuse to lay down and pull the sheets up to his head, rolling over to face the wall. He’s prepared to sleep the rest of the night away. It’s not long before he hears the other man shift across the room, and the sound of blankets rustling signal his laying down. Castiel closes his eyes and focuses on slowing his breathing, until he finally drifts off.

 

 

            He only wakes once throughout the night. He’s not sure what woke him, because it may have been only in his dream that he’d felt something brush by the ridge of his ear. But years of living on edge have him ingrained to flip over, arm raised in a defensive tactic, his heart thumping. The room is silent. Still. In the darkness, he can eventually make out the lump in the bed across from him that is Alastair, blankets slowly rising and falling with the others sleep. Castiel sighs, mad at his body for needlessly awakening him. He turns back over, making sure that the blanket is pulled high enough to cover his ears this time, and falls back to sleep.

 

*

 

 

 

            “Castiel.” He startles from his slumber again when he feels a warm firm hand on his shoulder through the blankets. His head shoots up, eyes wide. Alastair’s looking down at him, intent eyes on his face. “It’s time for you to wake up.” Alastair’s hand stays on him until he dislodges it by tiredly nodding and sitting up.

 

            The day lights are already on, shining bright. He rubs at his eyelids, still half-asleep. He doesn’t understand why he needs to be awake when all he’ll be doing is waiting. He’d actually rather waste as many hours as he can, sleeping. It’s quite a contrast to how he’d felt just a few days previous, but his body is starting to get that tingling confined feeling in it again and it only seems to disappear while he’s either busy or asleep.

 

            But he’s up now, so there’s no use fighting it. He makes his way to the bathroom, splashes cool water on his face and brushes his teeth. He wonders about bringing the travel sized toothpaste and brush with him when he leaves. It’d be a nice commodity to have again, but he’d need to find a durable pack or something to carry them in.

 

 

            When he turns to leave the bathroom, Alastair is suddenly there, leaning against the doorway. He smiles. “I hope you slept well.”

 

            Cas pauses and shifts where he stands. “…I did.”

 

            Alastair nods. His eyes drift across his form before his smile turns a bit more into a smirk. “You look much better then you did a few days ago, if I might say so myself.”

 

            Castiel doesn’t know what else to say to that, besides an awkward and stiff “Thank you.”

 

            He tries to leave but before he can, Alastair puts a hand across the doorway, blocking him much like Dean had done the night before. It’s a little aggravating. “I just wanted to say that …I’m glad we found you when we did, though I wish we could have done so sooner. It makes me sad to think of what …could have happened, if our paths had never crossed at all.” A frown, albeit a forced one, pulls at his lips as he leans in closer.

 

            Castiel leans away, even as he reaches up and lightly pushes Alastair’s arm out of the way. “While I appreciate the kindness I’ve been shown here, I’m sure I could have still made it on my own.” He replies stiffly. He has to turn sideways to shuffle through the doorway because Alastair doesn’t move, head just turning to follow him as he enters the larger room.

 

            “Oh, I’m sure you could have managed to stay ‘alive’.” His tone makes it plainly clear that that is the exact _opposite_ of what he actually thinks and Castiel frowns as he crosses the room. “But isn’t it so much better to not… be on your own? When you’re with a group, you have so much more security. You can eat, sleep, _and rest_ without having to constantly be looking over your shoulder.” He drawls, following Castiel closely behind with his arms crossed.

 

 

            Castiel doesn’t like where this conversation is going and he mindlessly starts folding the sheets on his bed even though he knows he doesn’t need to, just to give himself something to do. If he only uses one arm, it takes up twice as much time. “Yes, I am aware of that. But I am not on my own.” He wants to glare at him, just to reinforce his words, but he can feel the other’s stare from too close behind his back so he doesn’t risk turning his head. “I was only alone before…by happenstance. It was only temporary.”

 

            “Well,” The word ghosts across his ear and he jumps in surprise, back bumping against the others chest and Castiel shoots away on impulse. His back hits the wall beside him and Alastair just turns to follow his direction, unaffected by his obvious discomfort. “That may or may not be true.” His head tilts with his inflection as he steps closer.

 

            Castiel feels like he’s being slowly boxed in and the part of him that’s grown used to fighting starts to rear up from deep inside. “But your camp or … _wherever_ it is that you’re going, is it bigger then ours? Hm?” His arms are still crossed and he takes one step closer until he’s only a few inches away. His eyebrow is raised, the question nearly rhetorical when he doesn’t wait for a response. “See, I’ve seen most of the other groups around the area, all of which I’m nearly certain you do not belong to, and very few of those have come even close to what we have here. We have food. Vehicles. Supplies.” His voice dips lower as he continues listing, “Protection. People. A lot of people. …Are you sure that you want to leave?”

 

            “Yes.” Castiel nearly growls. It’s too early in the morning for this. Why was Alastair suddenly being so pushy?

 

            The taller man bites on the inside of his cheek for a second, looking away as if contemplating Castiel’s answer. But instead of taking it and letting the conversation drop, he leans forward so his hand braces on the wall next to Castiel’s head and focuses his attention back on him. “Well, you see, that just makes me wonder what your group could possibly have that ours doesn’t. What makes it so great that you’re so desperate to leave here?”

 

            Castiel’s patience is reaching its breaking point and he stands taller, his back coming just an inch from the wall. He glares. “Not that it’s any of your business, because I don’t _need_ a reason,” he grits out, teeth grinding whenever he pauses, “But I have friends and family out there. And to be quite frank, I haven’t the slightest desire to stay here. At all.” He resists the urge to lean forward, to force the other away, because Alastair is showing no signs of backing up and it only makes him angrier. “So I would really appreciate it, if you would stop trying to stick your nose where it does. Not. Belong.”                 

             

            Alastair’s jaw twitches, an annoyed look finally crossing his features. Only a second later, the same _exact_ amused smile he’d worn before stretches across his face and Castiel thinks he’s finally beginning to understand why the others may hold a dislike for the man in front of him. “Mm…there’s that fiery attitude from before. I was starting to wonder where it had gone.” His nose twitches, breathing in, before he finally takes a step back, arm falling from Castiel’s side.

 

            He spreads his hands, palms up, in a slightly placating gesture. “I apologize for causing you any unease. I assure you, it wasn’t my intention.” But that mocking smile seems to be stuck in place, and Castiel can’t take his apology seriously.

 

            “I was merely…curious. If you have family out there waiting for your return, then of course I can’t blame you for wanting to leave. It’s perfectly sensible to want to.” He seems to finish and Castiel takes a deep breath, relieved. But the other seems to have a lot on his mind, because he soon tacks on, “Though, if that’s the only reason…If your group isn’t in as …sturdy standing like I fear it just may be… well, I just want you to know that I don’t think it’d be very hard for you to find a place to fit in around here.”

 

            Castiel’s head tilts with a guarded expression. How was he not getting it through his head that he was not interested in-    

 

            “Your friends and family included, of course.”

 

            Castiel’s jaw drops slightly open in surprise. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Wait, You mean…?”

 

            “It depends on the number of people, naturally, but…” He shrugs a shoulder, eyes still intent on Castiel’s face. He gestures to the room outside. “This camp, they seem to collect outsiders like strays. I’m sure they wouldn’t be completely adverse to a few more joining, especially if somebody was pushing for it to happen from the inside.” His smile looks more natural now, his underlying message clear and Castiel can feel his guard coming down.

 

            “That…is very nice of you to offer.” He breathes for a second, trying to take this new turn of events in. “I’m not sure if they would be interested, but I’ll keep that in mind. Perhaps…” In retrospect, his time here hadn’t been entirely unpleasant. And Alastair did have a point, the more people a camp had, the more protection it carried. But then again… his own camp had been fine _until_ they’d brought new people in. It had only gone downhill from there.

 

            “So does that mean your camp _is_ in bad standing?” Castiel looks up at the clipped, accusatory tone. Alastair’s eyes are shining, like he’s just learned something exciting and it makes Castiel stomach drop.

 

            “N-No, we’re-”

 

            “How bad?” Alastair interrupts him and Castiel can feel his guard flying right back up when he adds, just as interested. “How many people _are_ in your camp, Castiel? Hm?” 

 

            “Twenty?” The beta asks. Alastair’s smile only grows when Castiel flounders for a response, trying to think of the best answer. “Ten?” Alastair’s voice drops almost to a whisper and he steps forward back into Castiel’s space. He can tell that there is a secret fear showing in his eyes and he hates it. He never meant to give away any sort of hint to his group’s well-being and now there’s just a constant litany of ‘I’ve messed up, I’ve screwed up.’ Running through his head as Alastair leans in close. “Five? Are there even five members in your camp, Castiel? Can you even _call_ that a camp?”

 

            He doesn’t mean to, he truly doesn’t. But Cas swallows in the fear of being found out and the flash that shines through the beta’s eyes tells him that he may as well have confessed. Even so, he tries to scrounge up a lie. “No. We have, at l-least,… te-fourteen people.” He mentally winces over the stumble in numbers. He’s acting like a child caught red-handed when he’s done nothing wrong and it’s infuriatingly embarrassing.

           

            Alastair’s not believing him for a second. There’s a knowing smirk simply dancing across his face but thankfully before he can remark any further there’s a sudden knock at the door.

 

 

            Castiel’s never been so relieved by an interruption in his life. The door swings open without waiting, and Alastair steps away, but not before Sam sees them.

 

            “What…?” Sam is looking between the two of them with wide stunned eyes. His gaze sweeps the room before he quietly asks. “…Where’s Dean?”    

 

            Alastair shrugs, stuffing his hands casually in his pockets. “How should we know?”

 

            Sam ignores him, eyes falling back and forth between them. “What’s going on?”

 

            “Your brother’s not here. Was there something else you wanted?” Alastair replies instead of answering and all it does is earn him a glare from the young alpha.

 

            Castiel cuts in before Sam can respond. “Is it time for breakfast yet?” It’s fairly apparent that he’s looking for a way out with a subject change and Sam nods to him slowly.

 

            “Yeah…” After a second he looks pointedly at Cas. “You wanna come?”

 

Castiel doesn’t even bother trying to hide how thankful he is. In his haste to shift away from the beta, his foot catches on his water bottle on the floor and it goes rolling under the cot. He quickly bends down and grabs it to throw it up on his bed and leave before Sam can change his mind, but while he’s down there, he briefly notices something. His clothes from the day before are gone.

 

            He glances around, but they’re nowhere in sight and they definitely are not where he’d set them down the night before. Sam coughs lightly in the back of his throat and Castiel decides to let it go, though he does spare Alastair a quick tentative glare, making sure he knows that their conversation was not forgotten, nor appreciated.   

He ducks underneath Sam’s arm, which is holding the door open for him, and exits out into the hall.

 

            Sam lingers in the doorway for a few seconds, eyeing Alastair who only pleasantly stares back, smirk and raised eyebrow set in place. Sam scowls and shuts the door.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

            “So…do I even want to know what that was about?”

 

            “It’s nothing, Sam.” Castiel needs to calm himself and stop speaking so freely. So what if Alastair had his suspicions, it didn’t mean anything. Castiel hadn’t actually said anything to confirm them. He just needs to ride his time out here until he can leave this place behind. It’d been stupid of him to even contemplate the possibility of returning here after the fact.

 

            “Okay… if you say so. Why was Alastair in there?”

 

            “Your brother was given the night off. Alastair stayed the night with me.”

 

            Sam grimaces. “Yikes.”

 

            “It wasn’t so bad.” Until this morning. He hoped he wouldn’t somehow be regretting the conversation later on. What concern was it to Alastair how big his camp is?

 

            “I find that hard to believe.” Sam remarks just before they enter the dining room. Castiel pauses, not quite sure what to do. He wasn’t exactly welcomed there the day before and he didn’t want to face any more confrontation. The room is full of people this time. He must have slept in longer then he’d thought. It was hard to be sure with no actual daylight. How did anyone follow any type of schedule around here?

 

            “Come on.” Sam nudges him by the elbow and begins walking across the room. Castiel follows, though he can feel eyes slowly being drawn to him like bugs to a flame. They walk up to a plastic picnic table in the far corner of the room where a group of people sits and Sam pats an empty seat. “Here, sit here. I’ll go get us some food.” Castiel doesn’t move. In front of him sits a surprised Jess, a half-asleep Chuck, and a very-pissed looking Jo. Castiel hasn’t seen her since the night he’d met her and he feels another small wave of guilt when he spots the bandages wrapped around the back of her head.

 

            Sam gives him a slight shove forward towards the aforementioned empty seat next to Chuck before he turns to walk away.

 

            “Seriously Sam?!” Jo shouts at his retreating back and Cas barely keeps himself from flinching. If they weren’t before, now all eyes in the room are focused their way. He takes a deep breath and sits down in a futile attempt at blending in.

 

            He folds his hands in front of him on the table and deliberately keeps his eyes on his thumbs as he absently rubs them back and forth against each other. Jo’s glare feels like a physical force from across the table.

 

            “So…” He hears Jess pipe up after a silent minute. He doesn’t know who she’s directing it at, but he doesn’t risk looking up. “I heard that-“

 

            “-Oh, no. We’re not dancing around this.” Jo interrupts her, shutting her down. She throws her hand on the table, palm down, close enough that it’s clearly meant for Castiel’s attention. “You’ve got some nerve, coming in here like you own the place.”

 

            Castiel sighs and finally looks up to meet Jo’s gaze. “I’m not trying to intrude-“

 

            “Well, you are.”

 

            “Jo.” Jess tries to place a hand on the younger girl’s shoulder but she shakes it off. “Jo, don’t be mean.”

 

            Jo scoffs at her. Then scoffs at Cas. And then turns just to scoff at Jess one more time. She raises a hand to the back of her head, vaguely pointing. “Oh, I’m sorry! Am _I_ being mean?!” She nudges Chuck across the table, who’d rested his head down on his crossed arms. He raises his head just enough to tiredly glance at her, and once he does, she motions widely to him, her voice laced heavily with sarcasm. “Is that what’s happening here? I’m being needlessly mean?” Chuck just rolls his eyes and drops his head back to his arms, not bothering to warrant her with a response.

 

            Castiel takes it in good stride. She has the right to be upset. “I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

 

            She looks him right in the eye, leaning forward and quickly retorts, “Sorry doesn’t mean shit nowadays, does it?”

 

            He looks down. “No, I guess it doesn’t. I don’t know what else to say though. I _am_ sorry.”

 

            She breathes out heavily through her nose, sits back straight in her seat and looks away. It’s quiet for a few long moments until she eventually mutters under her breath. “I owe you a good kick in the mouth.” 

 

            He nods his head once in a mute understanding. Jo shovels in a few spoonful’s of what looks to be oats, momentarily satisfied with his answer.

 

 

            It’s quiet. Nobody at the table speaks. Castiel thinks. After nearly an entire minute passes, he speaks up. “I suppose, in actuality, it would be that I owe you.”

 

            Jo turns to him and her eyebrows rise high on her forehead. “ _Excuse_ me?”

 

Castiel’s a little taken aback by her offended response and he looks to Jess, but she’s also giving him an odd ‘what-the-hell-do-you-think-you’re-doing’ look. Then he realizes where his wording may have gone wrong.

 

            “No-no. I didn’t mean a ki-…I meant as in a favor. I injured you, …despite the fact that it was unintentional and you were pulling out a gun,” The last part’s muttered quietly under his breath. He continues with “I don’t have anything I can give you. But if it will make any difference to you, maybe I can try to make it up to you before I leave?” He raises his good arm in a shrug.

 

            She slowly shakes her head derisively. “ _Make it up_ to me?”

 

            He shrugs again. “I can try. It’s the only thing I have to offer. Is there anything I can do for you to help accept my apology?”

 

            Her mouth squints into a pursed pout as she looks at him, suspicious but… considering.  

 

            “I helped Sam do some of his chores yesterday. Perhaps I could help you with yours? If I’m allowed?” He doesn’t know why he’s trying to get her to stop being angry with him. Perhaps it’s because he really does feel guilty. She’d been nice enough and completely unprovoking when he had attacked her.

 

            He nearly jumps when a plastic plate plops down loudly onto the table next to him. “Aw, look. Cas is making friends, Sammy.” Castiel’s surprised to hear Dean’s confident booming voice as he takes the place to Cas’ left. He looks up to see Sam taking the last remaining seat next to Jess at the six-person table.

 

            Sam passes Castiel a bowl of oatmeal across the table, smiling civilly. “What are you guys talking about?” Jess and him both glance at each other at the same time, and then look away bashfully in near unison. Cas can hear Dean softly snort beside him.

 

            He tries to keep his gaze focused on the food placed in front of him, but he can feel his eyes trying to drag their way to the dirty-blonde haired man beside him. He doesn’t know if he should still feel angry from the way they had departed the night before or perhaps try to pretend that the argument had never even happened, as Dean seemed to be doing next to him. Was he the only one who was feeling this tension? He gives in and glances sideways for the barest millisecond. Dean appears to be wearing his usual easy-going attitude that he seems to carry whenever around his brother or the other campers. But perhaps, Castiel thinks, in the bare glance he achieves, that maybe Dean looks a little too comfortable. A forced kind of ease.

 

            “Yeah, what’s todays big gossip?” Dean grins and waggles his eyebrows mockingly at the two girls and his brother across from them.  

 

            “Well, ‘ _Cas’_ here,” Jo smiles sardonically at him. “Was just offering to do all of my gardening for the day. Weeding and all.” She rests one elbow on the table and places her chin in her palm. “Weren’t you, Cas?”

 

            Dean and Sam both still. Dean, who’d been doing his own part in pointedly not looking at the man beside him, finally turns to him. “…You were?” He sounds confused and on guard and Sam looks mildly alarmed in turn.

 

            Cas, being put on the spot, looks between them and the delighted girl. Jess seems to be trying her best to stay out of the conversation and Chuck is now slightly snoring beside him. Castiel slowly nods. “Yes…I suppose, if that’s what she wants. And if it’s permitted.”

 

            “ _Permitted.”_ Jo mocks under her breath and Jess elbows her in the side.

 

            Sam ignores her commentary. “I don’t know if that’s such a great idea, guys. I mean, no offense, Cas, it’s great that you’re offering to help out and everything, but that involves going outside …and with you leaving soon…”

 

            Cas sighs. “I understand.” The mention of going outside makes his heart skip a beat, but he doesn’t want to test the waters with how close his departure should be coming.

 

            Jo actually whines at Sam. “Oh, come on. I finally find someone to do my weeding, and you’re going to take that away from me?”

 

            Sam gives her a look. “Your mom-“

 

            “Oh, what about my mom?!” She crosses her arms and glowers at him from around Jess’ shoulder. “You afraid of my old lady?”

 

            Dean and Sam both don’t say anything. They just stare at her. She rolls her eyes. “Okay, you may have a point. But,” She suddenly smiles, and nearly bobs in her seat as she looks around at them. “She doesn’t run _everything_ around here. I say we put it up to a vote.” She quirks her mouth in a sly smirk, obviously very excited at the prospect of Castiel doing her chores and suddenly he finds himself reconsidering what he’s volunteered for.   

 

            “We’re _not_ putting it up to a vote.” Sam responds, exasperated.

 

            “Why not?!”

 

            “Because-!”

 

 

            “Cas.” Castiel blinks when Dean suddenly murmurs in his ear. He turns just to see Dean leaning towards him, cautious eyes surveying his face. The other’s bickering fades into background noise. Dean licks his lips, hesitant, before he quietly asks, “Do you want to go outside?”

 

            His heart kicks up a notch again, but he battles to not let it show. He desperately wants to get out from these confining walls of this underground camp. He hadn’t even realized how bad that itch had gotten until it’d metaphorically been offered to be scratched. “Yes.” He answers, nodding his head quickly.

 

            Dean turns the spoon in his hand a few times, then looks back up into Castiel’s eyes, gaze searching. “You’re not going to try running away or causing any fights, right?” And Cas would wonder why Dean was hinting as if he would let him have this, have the opportunity to see sunlight before he actually had to, if it wasn’t for Dean quickly adding, “Because you know, you don’t have to. Run, that is. We _are_ going to bring you back. I promise.” Dean’s eyes roam his face and Castiel thinks that this may be Dean’s roundabout way of apologizing for the night before. Maybe there was a chance after all that the day wouldn’t be completely filled with confrontation.

 

            After a second, he nods again. “I know.” Those two words seem to make the odd tension in Dean’s shoulder’s loosen, and he’s surprised by how much the acknowledgment must mean to Dean. His lips twitch in a reluctant smile. “I promise not to cause any trouble, Dean.” He mutters gently.

 

            A small smile slowly grows to match his as Dean looks at him, the background noise of Sam and Jo’s argument kicking up a notch across from them. “Okay, then.” Is all Dean eventually returns, before he slowly moves to face the two who are bickering around a miserable-looking Jess.

 

            “…You weren’t even old enough to be out of diapers yet!-”

 

            “And yet I _still_ seem to somehow have bigger balls than you!-”

 

            “Hey!” Dean yells, cutting Jo’s retort off mid-way. There’s no telling what odd turn the argument had fallen to but they both stop and turn at his call. “I think we should let Cas up.” He remarks casually.

 

            “What?” Sam yelps, vexed that his brother wasn’t taking his side.

 

            Dean shrugs nonchalantly and stuffs a spoonful of Oats in. “Yeah, I mean, we’re just surrounded by big-ass trees. I doubt anyone can tell where we are just from standing outside. What harm could it cause?” He speaks around his mouthful in an undignified way.

 

            “Yeah, okay, but-“

 

            “I think it’s a good idea.” Jess finally pipes up next to him, cutting him off. Sam looks at her in bafflement.

 

            “You do?”

 

            She nods while taking the last bite of her own food. Unlike Dean, she waits until she’s swallowed to answer. “I don’t think anyone should stay cooped up for so long. Everyone needs fresh air every now and again.”

 

            Sam opens his mouth, but nothing comes out as he looks at her beside him.

 

            “Okay, that’s four-to-one!” Jo calls giddily, assuming Castiel into her count. She bends over the table and hits Chuck’s arm hard enough that his arms fall out of the way and his head ‘thunks’ on the table. He shoot’s up, eyes panicked and wide.

 

            “Wh-what?!”

 

            “Say yay or nay.” Jo laughs out. Chuck’s eyes narrow at her in tired irritation.

 

            “…I don’t know. Yay?” He guesses, not having a clue as to what they’re discussing.

 

            Jo cackles and Sam groans. “There! It’s settled! The vote has come to a close!”

 

            Sam just huffs, shaking his head. He stabs at the mush in his bowl. “Whatever. I’m not going to be the one to run this past Ellen. She’ll throw a fit.”

 

            “Fine! I’ll ask her!” Jo grins widely, victorious.

 

            Castiel can feel a small, excited buzz under his skin at the knowledge that he may be above ground soon and the pleasant feeling, for the moment, eradicates any of the leftover unease he’d had from his morning with Alastair.

 

 

            The conversations continue after that, drifting from varied topic to topic around him and he listens idly while slowly shoveling his breakfast down. He finds himself smiling at the aimless chatter, but after awhile, something starts to lightly tug at his heartstrings.

 

            The atmosphere… it’s reminiscent of the times he’d spent, surrounded with his friends back at school. The purposeless conversations, the almost carefree attitudes… he misses them. A lot of those friends…were gone now. And the ones who weren’t… well, Cas was sitting here while who-knows-what may be happening to them out in the chaotic world that still existed outside of these walls.

 

 

            Dean eventually takes notice of the way Cas is staring pensively down at his half-eaten food next to him and he frowns. He leaves the nonsensical conversation of what type of paper airplane is most practical in a thunderstorm behind, and nudges Castiel’s leg with his foot under the table.

 

            Cas’ head bobs up and he blinks at Dean in surprise. “Hm?”

 

            “Hey man, what’s got you down?”

 

            Castiel does a poor imitation of a smile and shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

 

            Now Dean nudges their shoulders together, pressing. “No, seriously. What’s wrong, Cas?”

 

            Castiel turns over a spoonful of mush in his bowl absentmindedly. After a moment, he half-shrugs. “Nothing is wrong, Dean. I was just realizing...that this is the first sit-down meal, with a table and everything, that I’ve had in quite awhile.” He mutters lowly, thoughtfully, “I hadn’t realized how much I had missed it.”

 

            After a few seconds, he realizes that the table’s gone quiet and he glances up from his bowl to see that everyone’s attention is back on him. He feels his ears heat and he quickly looks back down in embarrassment. “Just forget it. It’s silly, really.”

 

            With every passing second of silence, he can feel his blush silently rising, until Dean comments calmly beside him, “No, it’s not.”

 

            He looks sideways, and is grateful to find that Dean’s not staring at him. “It’s not?”

 

            “Nah. Gotta take pleasure in the little things nowadays, y’know?” Dean reaches forward and drops his empty bowl into the pile that was beginning to form in the middle of the table. “If sit-down’s are your kinda’ thing, then don’t be ashamed to enjoy ‘em.” Dean’s purposefully not looking at anyone as he decides to rearrange the bowls into a neat stack.

 

            “...I suppose you’re right.” Dean glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and when he sees Castiel’s small smile, he pauses, and his lips twitch up into a cocky grin.

 

            “Of course I am.” And when Cas doesn’t scoff or look away at his retort, Dean’s movements stay still, eyes stuck on azure ones. Dean’s face heats up the slightest bit as he quietly adds, “With the shit-hole way things are right now, …well, …I don’t know, maybe you should try eating at a table more often.” A long second drags out and then Dean chuckles, shaking his head. That had sounded a lot less absurd in his mind. 

 

            Jo coughs across from them. “Well, aren’t you just a Mr.Peppy-the-positive today.” Dean rolls his eyes at her and she sticks her tongue out in return. “Well, while you all sit here and have a ‘moment’,” She looks between them and at Jess and Sam, who both are wearing kind pleasant smiles at Dean’s words. “I’m going to go bug mom until she gives the A-okay.” She stands up and takes the empty bowls from Dean’s fingers. “Hope you like weeds.” She winks mischievously at Cas before walking away.

 

            The last fifteen minutes of breakfast pass easily. Castiel makes sure to eat every last grain in his bowl and relishes in the way his stomach feels almost bloated by the end of it. Sam waits until Jo shows back up, gladly announcing that she is the master of all negotiations and that Cas will be allowed to go outside under her and her mother’s watchful eye, before Sam leaves to spend the day with Jess in the infirmary.

 

            After that, it’s almost comical how quickly Castiel questions on where to deposit his bowl and when they will be heading up. Finally, after several long minutes of deliberate stalling and teasing, Dean and Jo give in to his silent excitement and start on their way out. Dean says he’s on guarding duty, and that he’ll be within shouting distance the entire time. Jo mentions that Ellen will be right behind them to supervise everything and she grumbles the entire way about how unfair it is that she still has to go and do gardening work despite his volunteering.

 

 

*

 

 

            As it turns out, there isn’t some hidden grand entrance leading to the upper ground. Cas follows Dean and Jo until they stop at a commonplace pale door at the corner of where three halls meet, and when Jo swings it open, it leads up a short staircase to another bare normal door. Jo steps ahead of him, pushes that one open, and before Castiel can even mentally prepare himself, he’s being drenched in bright dazzling natural sunlight.

 

            He hisses and covers his eyes, pausing in the stairway when he’s completely blinded by the sudden light. He feels Dean’s hands on his shoulder’s guiding him forward. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic Anne Frank. It’s only been like two days.”

 

            “Three.” Castiel retorts, a little breathless.

 

            “Boy you better watch your tongue. That’s rude.” Ellen’s voice calls from behind them. Cas turns to try and make out her approaching form but everything is still bleached out. But he can feel the fresh air hit him though when his feet step on packed dirt beneath him and he’s quick to breathe it in.

 

            “Yes, mam.” Dean returns and lets go of his hold on him. Castiel blinks rapidly and finally his vision begins to swim back to normal. He can make out the trio standing casually beside him. He glances around, still shading his eyes, and slowly distinguishes his surroundings.

 

            There are patches of grass, but dark dirt where path’s of constant walking have worn it down. There’s a few man-made shelter’s and buildings propped up across the land, some looking quite well lived-in, and several people milling around. He can make out a few campfire spots set up, unlit for now and in the distance there’s a fair-sized fence, patched up in various places with aluminum and woodwork.

 

            It has a much homier feeling to it then the confining underground and Castiel can already feel the anxiety in him dampening out. He closes his eyes and tilts his head up to the sun.

 

            “Yeah, yeah, you can appreciate natures wonders from over here.” Jo grabs his good arm by the wrist and starts lightly tugging him to their left.

 

            Castiel stumbles a bit in surprise and he looks over to Dean, whose standing with his hands in his jean pockets with a hint of a smile on his face. He nods his head once in his direction and calls out warningly, “You better keep your word.”

 

            Castiel nods distractedly at his retreating form and soon enough he’s pulled away and left with Jo and a trailing watchful Ellen. He’s led to a small garden that lays stretched out, not very impressive in size, but orderly and concise in it’s long narrow rows.

 

            “We’ve got corn, soybeans, and tomato’s right now, but I don’t think the tomato’s are coming in all that well this time.” Ellen calls out beside him. “But,” She claps a firm hand on his shoulder and he barely keeps himself from flinching. “The good news is, you don’t really have to worry about those. Your job is to focus on all of those annoying pesky little weeds that keep trying to sprout up in the middle of them all. Find ‘em, and tear them out. Which, with your arm there, should only take you about twice as long as it would if Joanna here would actually just buckle down and do her work.” The last bit is completely directed at her daughter, who does a great job of not looking back her way. “Simple enough, right?” She turns with an expectant eyebrow at Castiel and he nods.

 

            She stares at him for a second, mouth in a firm line, waiting, but then she shakes her head with a shrug. “Fine. Weeds out, and I want three crates of corn picked. You two make sure it gets done today, got it?”

 

            “Got it!” Jo calls, already grabbing a crate and heading to the stalks. Cas smiles his agreement but Ellen only eyes him again before walking away.

 

             

            This turn of events happened so quickly that Castiel is still a little dazed. He spends a large portion of his first half hour outside simply breathing in the fresh air and loving every soft breeze that blows through his hair. His eyes burn when he looks near directly into the sun, but it’s a good kind of burn. If he’s gaging his days right, they should be somewhere in October. It’d been chilly out when he was in the city, but the cool air of autumn seems to have receded for the time being and the sun’s rays beat down brightly and soon enough he can feel a thin layer of sweat on his lower back.

 

 

            He eventually gets down to business and busies himself with pulling out weed after weed in the packed dirt. Ellen was right, his movements are a bit on the slow side, but he’s not very interested in getting the task done in a timely fashion. Three hours slip by in a blink of an eye. Jo finishes filling up three crates of corn and starts pulling weeds on the opposite side of the garden from where Castiel works.

 

 

            He’s somewhere in his fourth hour of slow plucking when he spots someone’s shadow encompassing his own. He glances up and spots Dean walking up behind him.

 

            As soon as he catches the others eye, Dean tosses a bag towards him. He fumbles to catch it before standing up.

 

            “Hey.” Dean smiles and looks over the area with an appraising glance. “You know you’re supposed to be pulling the weeds, not just watching them grow, right?”

 

            Castiel opens the bag instead of answering. He pulls out a water bottle and gulps some down gratefully.

 

            “It’s a bit early for lunch but um,” Dean looks away and down at the similar bag he holds in his hand. After a second he simply comments. “Come eat with me.” He shakes his bag a little for emphasis before he just turns and walks away. Castiel blinks and scans the area. Jo and Ellen are seated on the far end of the garden munching on food together. Ellen meets his eyes and nods to him once. Dean’s request, because Castiel refuses to take it as an off-handed order, is a bit abrupt but he nonetheless follows him.

 

            He trails after the man who wanders for a bit before plopping down on a set of crates a few yards away from the garden. Castiel slowly joins him. They’re in sight of others, but not within hearing range and he briefly wonders why Dean requested that he eat with him.

 

            Dean on the other hand, just pulls out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and starts munching down, paying Cas no attention. 

 

            Castiel is perfectly content with how they simply sit in silence for a while. He’s under no illusion, but sitting out here with barely any attention being placed solely on him… he can almost feel for a moment, if he relaxes enough and lets his mind wander, …as if he’s at the camp of his own accord. Almost.

 

            The peanut butter sticks to the roof of his mouth, and feels a little too thick in the heat of the early afternoon sun, but he savors it nonetheless. The camp doesn’t seem to be in a hurry of doing anything, run more on a ‘just make sure it gets done’ basis, so when he’s done with lunch he doesn’t rush off to finish weeding, instead he stays sitting next to Dean.

 

            …After a few minutes, he swears he smells the slightest hint of smoke. None of the campfires are lit though, and it smells a little…off. He sniffs the air, trying to distinguish where it’s coming from and…oh.

 

 

*

 

            “I did not take you as one who would enjoy smoking.” Dean’s a little startled when his company suddenly speaks up. He glances over at Cas next to him, who’s simply staring at him with those bright blue eyes.

 

His automatic quick response is to deny. That’s what he always does whenever Ellen or Sam or any of the other’s start to pry, but Castiel doesn’t look accusing, just merely knowing and… curious. Dean shrugs in an attempt at indifference, but he can’t help feeling a little put on the spot at being called out. “Yeah, …well, the way things are right now, if I live long enough for cancer to be the one to get me, I’ll count it as a blessing.” He waits for the lecture, or maybe for Castiel to ask for a stick himself, though he doesn’t exactly look like the type.

 

Cas stares at him. After a slow half-minute he concedes, “I suppose you do have a point.”

 

Huh. “Don’t…” Dean looks down and shuffles his feet in the dirt. “Don’t tell Sam. He doesn’t know.”

 

Cas cocks his head to the side. “He wouldn’t approve.” It’s a statement, not a question.

 

Dean nods. “No, he wouldn’t. He’s an optimist about the future. It’d be stupid of him to, but I know he’d throw a bitch fit about it if he found out that I’d started up the habit again. He doesn’t need anything else to worry about right now.”

 

 

“I don’t think it would be stupid of him to.” Dean looks up and meets Cas’ gaze. Cas continues softly “It’s perfectly sensible for him to worry about his brother, don’t you think?” He doesn’t know if Castiel meant for the hidden double meaning in his words, but it doesn’t stop him from hearing it. If Sam were the one doing it, he’d probably gripe on him nonstop about it too.

 

So, Dean doesn’t have anything to say to that. He didn’t need a guilt trip over it. It’s just a few cigarettes in the middle of the goddamn world ending. God knows he’s seen some of the other campers break out worse. Hell, he knows Garth, Chuck and a few others smoke pot on the regular. He still can’t figure out where they keep getting it from. They must have some plants hidden in the woods nearby.

 

“I won’t tell him.”

 

Dean breaks out of his thoughts. “What?”

 

“You don’t need to worry about my telling Sam. Your secret is safe with me.”  

 

The corner of Dean’s mouth rises in a soft smile. “Thanks, Cas.”

 

            They drift off into a comfortable silence again for a few minutes, both periodically sipping from their water bottles, until Dean finally decides to voice up a concern that’s been nagging at him throughout the entire morning.

 

            “Hey, Cas?”

 

            “…Yes, Dean?”

 

            Dean takes a slow breath. “So, um listen, this morning…before we sat down at the table for breakfast… Well, Sam kind of mentioned that he walked in on you earlier and…” Okay, so he’s making this sound a lot more awkward then it needs to be. Better to just spit it out. “Well, I was just wondering if there were any problems last night. You know, with Alastair.”

 

            Castiel’s eyes widen the slightest bit but he doesn’t say anything at first.

 

            He doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something about Castiel …where Dean can see the gears constantly turning behind those intense baby blues. He can see the way the other man is continuously thinking, planning, strategizing every word he’s going to say…but for the life of him, Dean cannot seem to ever get a read on what’s going through Castiel’s head. Maybe it’s only because he doesn’t know him that well, but it’s different from his friends, or Alastair, or Ruby, or the others. At least with them, Dean normally feels like he can at least _guess_ at what’s on their minds.

              

            “No.” Castiel finally responds. “There were no problems.”

 

            “Are you sure? Sam said it kind of looked like the two of you were f-”

 

            “Sam simply walked in during a misunderstanding.” Cas interrupts him, an unhappy frown marring his features.

 

            Dean scrutinizes him for a long second; waiting for any clarifications but Cas only continues to gaze at him. Dean sighs and shakes his head. “Okay, if you say so.”

 

            He bites the inside of his lip for a second and bends over to rest his elbows on his knees. He recalls how even Bobby, who’s barely spent time with Cas, remarked on how he doesn’t seem to be comfortable at all in their camp. He debates with himself on whether to say anything at all but after a moment, turns his head in the other’s direction. “You know, …you can tell me if there are. If you have any problems here at all.” He interlaces his hands in front of him and watches as he fidgets his fingers in a drumming motion back and forth. “You were right before. Last night. Whatever it is you have going on, whatever reason you have for being by yourself before…it’s none of my business. I’ll stop prying.”

 

 

            They sit in silence for a few beats, Dean waiting for Castiel to comment, but when he doesn’t, Dean haltingly keeps talking. “I know there’s a lot of shit going on out there. Hell, I probably don’t even know the half of it, but… you don’t have to worry about any of it while you’re here, okay?” He kind of feels like he’s talking out of his ass. He really doesn’t have a single clue as to what Castiel’s been thinking and the longer the other doesn’t respond the stupider he feels. But it needs to be said. If the reason Castiel doesn’t want to share anything with them is because he feels like he’s in danger or …on edge or whatever here, well then Dean wants him to know that he’s not. “You can relax here, and when we bring you back tomorrow …you can just go back to whatever it is you were doing.” A thought occurs to him and he snorts to himself, muttering, “As long as it’s not playing tag with the Croats again.”     

 

            It’s quiet for way too long after that and Dean begins to think that maybe he’s not going to get a response at all. “…Grace Falls.” Castiel finally replies, quietly.

 

            Dean blinks down at his hand before he turns his head to the other, confused. “Sorry, what?”          

 

            “The county I need you to bring me to. It’s Grace Falls county.” Castiel is looking away from him and Dean can’t tell if the weird tension he can see at edge of his outline is from a smile or a frown. Knowing him, probably a frown. “I think it’s southeast to the city. I’m not sure.”

 

            Not exactly where he thought this conversation would go, but okay. “Alright. I can work with that.”

 

            “I’m gunna take Sam and a few other’s with me tomorrow when we go to drop you off. That okay with you?” He doesn’t even really know why he’s asking, because it’s non-negotiable either way, but he feels like after the surprise news of leaving a day later last night, he should maybe make sure not to drop any new ‘revelations’ on the other if he can help it.

 

            “That should be fine.” Cas returns. He leans back on the crate next to Dean on his elbows, once again tilting his face up to the sun like he’s somehow photosynthesizing every ray. “Sam seems like a very nice person.” He murmurs absently.  

 

            Dean nods, but when he realizes that the other can’t see him, he simply comments “Yeah, he is.” It’s no secret that he’s immensely fond of his little brother. Even the small off-handed comment makes a wedge of pride bounce around inside of his chest. If there is one thing in the world he can be proud of, it’s Sammy.

 

 

            “You two are close.” Cas opens an eye to glance at Dean, and the sun makes it glint brightly. “…Very close, even for brothers.”

 

            Dean refuses to look or feel embarrassed. They are close, to the point that they’ve even been accused more than once of being more than just ‘brotherly’, and while he knows that that’s not true, it doesn’t make him any less defensive about it. “Yeah, well he’s my baby brother, of course we’re close.”

 

            A group of cicada’s start singing off somewhere in the forest and Cas tilts his head their way to better listen. “…I just think that it’s nice. I’ve known many siblings who don’t get along very well. Some who can barely even stand each other.”

 

            Dean hums. “Well that’s not us. I mean we fight sometimes, sure, but…” He shrugs. “I’d do anything for Sam.”

 

            To his surprise, he hears a light, short chuckle beside him.

 

            “Even shoot a stranger, no questions asked. Even when he’s telling you not to.”

 

            He looks over, eyes wide, but Cas still isn’t looking at him. He’s smiling though. So Dean chuckles too. “Yeah, even that.”

 

 

            After a few seconds, he sighs lightly. “Look, I know we’ve already put that …’incident’ behind us but uh, …don’t take that personally. I really would have tried to kill you, no matter who you were. It’s just…I’ve almost lost Sam once before…” He shrugs to himself. “And I’m not going to let anything make me lose him again.”

 

            Castiel finally turns his head back towards Dean, but now it’s the alpha that’s not facing him. He frowns slightly. “That’s understandable. …And, I’m sorry.”

 

            Dean shakes his head. “No Cas, like I said, it’s behind us, you don’t have to apologize for it. You were just-”

 

            “I didn’t mean that I was sorry for attacking Sam.” Dean looks at Cas, a confused and wary crease between his eyebrows. Cas tilts his head, reconsidering. “Well, I am. But I meant that…I’m sorry that you almost lost your brother. I know how hard it is to worry about a sibling during these times.”

 

            “Oh.” Sibling? Dean barely keeps the question from leaving his mouth. He’d just finished telling Cas that he wouldn’t pry, right? “Thanks then, I guess. …I’ve kind of gotten over it. It happened a long time ago, back when the outbreak first happened.” The truth of it though, is that he’s not over it. He will never _be_ over it.   

 

            Cas doesn’t say anything. Dean takes another sip of his water bottle. Crosses his arms. Uncrosses them. Brings up his legs and crosses them on the crate instead. He doesn’t know why, but there’s an uncomfortable itch at the back of his throat, one that refuses to go away until finally, he voices, “It was kind of my fault anyway. That I lost him.”

 

            It’s not the first time he’s admitted it, but doing so still causes an uncomfortable notch to form in his gut. He awkwardly glances sideways at the omega. Castiel continues to say nothing, but he does tilt his head the slightest bit, an open invitation for Dean to continue, if he so wishes. He doesn’t plan to. He really doesn’t. Which is why it surprises the hell out of him when he hears his own voice. “Sam was just in school when it happened, you know.”

 

            No Cas _doesn’t_ know. He doesn’t _need_ or really _care_ to know. “…He was in class, or at least, that’s what he says. He was about to finish his first year in University. He was going to be the first one in our family to graduate from college.” Dean can’t help the small twinge of a wistful smile that always accompanies that statement. “So yeah, he was in a three hour long class, and had turned his phone off for it, the nerd.” Shut _up_ , Winchester. “So of course, the idiot had no way of knowing that the outbreak had just started a few blocks down from the University. Hell, I hadn’t even realized until it was already too late.”

 

 

            He breaks off and takes a slow breath. He should probably just let it drop. Really, nobody cared. Everyone had their own stories, many of them a lot worse than his. He crosses his arms again and leans his elbows down on his knees, looking away. After a moment, he feels a soft touch on his leg and he looks over. Cas’ hand retreats back to his own lap, but his eyes are still open and sincere, as if he’s not already jaded to everyone else’s problems. Cas nods once, not pushing, but encouraging.

 

 

            Dean debates with himself, but after a moment decides ‘to hell with it. “I searched for him.” He snorts. “…Man, did I search for him. Got a call from my dad in the middle of the day demanding I go, I had no idea what the hell was going on, but next thing I knew I was in the middle of it all. Driving my car up and down the clogged streets by the University. But everything was already a nightmare by the time I’d gotten there. I checked his dorm, ran around the campus a few times, but besides that I didn’t know where else to look. I’d only visited him on campus a few times over the year and didn’t know where he would go. People were running around screaming and yelling, most of the main roads got blocked off pretty quickly, fires were starting up all over the place…” He shakes his head in reminiscence. “It was so disorientating. Within an hour or two…Croats started showing up everywhere. …I tried to hang around for as long as I could… but after a while I couldn’t handle it anymore. I left. I left him.”

 

 

            Cas doesn’t comment on how pitiful Dean sounds towards the end. Simply listens and hums. When Dean’s done, he very softly says after a minute “…I never saw the beginnings of the outbreak.”

 

            Dean tilts his head towards him a little, but doesn’t meet his eyes. Dean’s feeling pretty self-loathsome at the moment. “…I wasn’t anywhere very populated. We only heard of it through phone calls and word of mouth. By the time the cities were overrun, we’d closed our gates to the outside. We only stayed inside and prayed for the best.” Cas’ mouth is a firm sad line beside him. “If we hadn’t done that… if we’d gone out and looked for survivors…perhaps we could have saved more people.”

 

            Dean finally glances over to him. He wants to ask what Cas means. His family closed their gates? But the look on the other’s face makes the question die on his lips. He’ll return the same favor Cas had done him, and not issue him further. If Cas wants to talk about it, he’ll talk about it.

 

            “That sounds horrible, though.” Cas turns, and finally after so many long minutes of dodging the other’s, their eyes meet. “I was lucky enough to be reunited with my sister before everything reached the point of no return. I don’t know what I would have done if I had had to face the beginning of it all without her.” Cas’ empathy towards him looks genuine and Dean swallows, the spit in his mouth feeling too thick and the rock of guilt in his stomach too heavy in the afternoon sun. Castiel slowly bears the softest of smiles towards him. “I suppose it worked out in the end for you though, right? Sam is here now. You got him back.”

 

            Dean hollowly smiles back and nods once. “Yeah, suppose it did. I sadly have Ruby and her lot to thank for that.”

 

            Cas tilts his head and Dean clarifies. “Sam knows Ruby and Jess from his college. When everything first began to breakdown, Ruby took charge I guess. Took him under her wing or something. Her, Alastair, Azazel, Lilith …they had a small group of their own forming for awhile there. There were others, but I don’t think they made it. Somewhere along the line apparently Jess, Meg, and Gordon joined them.”

 

            “I tried to stay around our hometown for months when I couldn’t find him. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, I’ve known them since childhood and I met up with them within a week of outbreak. Them, Chuck, Garth… half the camp here were all with me from nearly the start.” He half-smiles. “I’m lucky that I’ve still got them. But anyways, we moved around a bit but tried to stay relatively close to town for a long while there. And whether there’s some merciful deity out there or what, I don’t know, but after a few months of me stalling, ‘cuz I refused to mourn for my brother without a body- ‘cuz I know he won’t go down without a hell of a fight- well,…we ran into them. Literally.”

 

            His smile gets more energetic, more sincere, and Cas smiles a bit more in return. “The bastards were trying to steal our food while our backs were turned. We’d left our little tents for _maybe_ ten minutes, and when we got back, half our supplies were gone and their grubby little hands were trying to snatch up as much as they could and buck it before we got to them. But they weren’t fast enough and it kind of turned into a brawl.” Dean sighs happily as he murmurs the next part, “I had a hand wrapped around the back of Lilith’s blonde little head before Gordon tackled me to the ground. We were rolling around in the dirt, throwing punches everywhere when I finally heard Sam’s voice over the uproar. …It was like the world had stopped for me. Gordon got a good uppercut in too while I was distracted. Couldn’t talk right for nearly a week after that, I think he nearly dislocated my jaw. But it didn’t matter to me ‘cuz ten seconds later I had Sam in my arms. The giant nearly crushed my lungs too.” Dean chuckles, the guilt trip of the earlier memory momentarily triumphed by the happy one. 

 

            The corner of Cas’ eyes crinkle and he smiles wide enough for both sets of his white pearly teeth to show. Dean has to blink for a second because this is probably the biggest he’s seen Cas smile since he’s met him.

 

            “That’s fantastic, Dean.”

 

            Dean hums in agreement, the adrenaline from the pleasant memory slowly dying back down.           

 

            “I hope that I…” Dean watches as Cas seems to stop himself, his sentence dying off mid-way. Cas glances down at the ground for a split second before looking back up.

 

            “You hope what, Cas?”

 

            Castiel shakes his head, still smiling, though not quite as bright as before. “Nothing. I’m just very happy for you. The fact that you managed to find your brother again…is incredible, Dean.”

 

            “Yeah… It’s like… what you said about your sister. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had found him.” That’s a neutral enough statement, right? Dean doesn’t inquiry on the subject further but, still, it’s out there.

 

            Cas bites on his lip for a second and nods mutely. “Yes.” He takes a deep breath before he points a purposeful look at Dean. “Which is why I can trust you to understand why I need to get back…correct?”

 

            Dean’s gut pulls a little at the confirmation. “Your sister is waiting for you.” Castiel stares at him for a second, seeming unsure, but slowly he nods again.

 

            “…Yes.”

 

            “And your best friend. You said he’s still at your camp too, right?”

 

            “Yes.”

 

            Dean sighs. “Yeah, I understand. You miss them, and their probably worried out of their minds about you too. Just… you just have to wait until tomorrow morning, okay? We’ll leave as soon as daybreaks if that's what you want, and you’ll be back there before it’s even noon.”

 

            Cas smiles gently again, genuine and grateful. “…Thank you, Dean. For understanding.”

 

            Dean snorts and shakes his head as he pushes Castiel’s shoulder, forcing him to roll off the crate. “Yeah, Yeah, in the meantime, go be the human weed-whacker you promised to be.” Cas rolls and lands on his feet almost gracefully and Dean stands too. “I’ll help you guys bring the crates down to inventory when you’re done.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

            After that, the early afternoon shift slips away quickly. Dean’s in a fairly good mood for the rest of it, and his friends seem to notice and feed off of it. Sam swings by towards the end and throws him a beer and Gordon bugs his brother until he gets one too. Before he knows it, the sun is beginning to recede and shadows are starting to stretch towards him.

 

            Right around the same moment that he’s noticing the time, Bobby and Ash show up to announce that the incoming vehicle is about ten minutes away. Bobby unsubtly hints at Dean to go help Cas find his way back inside, to better help not start up any hassles when the other’s get here and start unloading.

 

            He trades his post with Ash and wanders over to the garden. Unsurprisingly, the weeds seem to be long-since pulled and the crates are full. What is surprising though, is that Ellen, Jo, and Cas are all sitting in a small circle together in the grass, talking quietly. Dean watches Castiel mouth something and a second later Ellen’s loud booming laugh reaches him. Well, this is an interesting development.

 

            “How come I didn’t get an invite to the winner’s circle?” He calls when he’s close enough and waggles his eyebrows at Ellen.

 

            “’Cuz you’re not a winner.” Jo sticks her tongue out at him. He walks up behind her and ruffle’s her hair unmercifully until she manages to crawl away from his grasp. “You son of a bitch, do you know how hard it is to get tangles out of my hair?!” She whines loudly and playfully kicks at his ankles until he has to side-jump away, laughing.

 

            “You’re off already?” Ellen questions, suspicious.

 

            “It’s almost dark, woman! How long do you expect me to work?” The trio glance around, as if they were just noticing the retreating sun and Dean shakes his head.

 

            “Huh.” Is all Ellen remarks. She stands up with a huff and starts swiping the dirt from her pants and Jo and Cas soon follow her lead. “Guess it’s time to start getting these downstairs.” She motions to the crates before picking one up herself. “Dean, hun, do your part, would ya?”

 

            Dean snorts. He was planning on helping anyways but Ellen seems to think he’s an unending bundle of helpful hands. “Of course, Mam.”

 

            Cas looks a little lost for a moment until Jo throws him a few pairs of gloves and a set of small clippers. “Carry these.” Her and Dean pick up the last two crates and they all start heading to the nearest door that leads inside.

 

            Dean glances at all the gloves with an eyebrow raised. “You weren’t wearing those earlier, were you?”

 

            Cas shakes his head in the negative. “I didn’t think to ask for any, and Jo supposedly forgot to offer any until we were nearly finished.” He throws a soft glare at the girl, but there’s no real heat behind it and Jo just playfully shrugs.

 

            “I guess we’ll just have to consider that your kick-to-the mouth for now. Or at least, until I can think of something better.” She winks and laughs.

 

            Dean smiles. He doesn’t know what changed the atmosphere between the three of them but he likes it. He likes the playful banter and is more than glad to see the awkward tension from before gone.

 

            When they reach the door, Cas holding it open since he carries the least amount, the girls go right on through. Dean stops and waits while Cas pauses at the doorway, breathing in the outside air for a few extra long seconds before deciding to finally step over the threshold. The door shuts loudly behind them and they descend down the stairs into the underground.

 

            Ellen and Jo are about a hallway or two ahead of them, and Dean and Cas lag leisurely behind. Today’s been a not-so-bad day. Almost fun, even.

 

            “Hey, you know what I realized earlier?” Dean questions sideways.

 

            “Hmm?” Cas returns.

 

            “You managed to weasel your way out of, not only sitting in the room for another day, but also out of being underground too. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a hidden agenda.” Cas turns his head towards him, eyes wide for a second, until he sees the teasing grin threatening to split across Dean’s face.

           

            He huffs and shakes his head, smiling softly. “I enjoyed today much more than the last two. I’m very glad you helped the others decide to let me up.”

 

            “Yeah, I’m a saint. You better remember that tomorrow when you’re stuck in the car with me for hours.”

 

            The walk down to inventory is easy and filled with periodic playful conversation. Nobodies at the door to stop them from going in, and Dean’s not too sure if Ellen’s alright with Castiel going into their inventory, but she hadn’t said anything against it that day, so he let’s the other follow him in from behind. Ellen and Jo must already be gone. The inventory room is kind of like a small warehouse. It stretches up to be two stories tall, with some small rectangle windows sat into the top parts of the wall since the second half reaches above ground. Somewhere in the back end there’s a retractable metal door they can pull up or down when needed, that has a ramp leading up to outside, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.

 

            There are a few tall rows of towering supplies they’d gathered over the past year and a half. One or two extra bedframes, extra various kitchen utensils, pipes and plywood, tools, canned goods that they’re hoarding for winter… really anything and everything that doesn’t exactly have a place in someone’s room but may at one point or another come in handy. In one back corner they have large barrels and crates that they try to safely store more perishable food items in until they can fit them into the kitchen’s back room.

 

            Sometimes he really does wonder what this place was used for before they moved into it. What kind of building is made with only three small rooms upstairs and a labyrinth of rooms downstairs, including a locker room and kitchen? His best guest was that it was some kind of long-term research facility. Oh well.

 

            “This way.” Dean calls over his shoulder to keep Cas from wandering away as they go. The lighting’s not all that great down here when the sun’s not coming in through the windows, even with the daytime lights still switched on. As Dean turns to look forward again as he walks, he bangs his head harshly on an misplaced pipe that’s laying outstretched halfway into the walking pathway.

 

 “Goddamn it, Fuckin’ hell, fuckin’ fuck.” Profanity pours from his mouth like an undeterred waterfall. He practically throws his box on the floor, doubling over and grasping at his head, face wrinkling up in pain.

 

Castiel finds himself snorting in surprise amusement a few feet behind him, “Very eloquent, Dean.”

 

Gritting his teeth, Dean manages to creak one eye open from his crouched position, peering up at the brunette. “Shaddup. It hurts.” He whines. Castiel’s smile only widens, showing a bit of teeth.

 

            Dean stares at him for a few seconds before he starts to split an embarrassed smile too. He chuckles. And then outright laughs when the pain starts to ebb away. He shakes his head and shoves the pipe back into its proper place. “I’m gunna kill whoever left that there.”

 

            He heaves the heavy box back up from the floor and when he stands up, he nearly clashes his head again, but this time on Castiel’s chin when he stands too close. They stop for a minute, chuckling uneasily at the near collision. Dean takes a step back to put space between them again. The proximity had accidentally given him another whiff of Castiel’s scent and he’s a little lost when he feels his gut pull tight. The sudden silence in the dim storage room as they stand staring at each other is quickly becoming deafening for him and he forces himself to look away, coughing. He finishes making his way to the back, ignoring the small blush he can feel rising in his cheeks and Castiel’s still amused smile behind him.

 

 

            On the way back out, Chuck is at the doorway, and the inventory room once again has a guardian. “No smoke breaks while on duty, man.” Dean says as he holds the door open for Cas to slowly exit behind him.

 

            Chuck just grumpily waves a hand at him “Like you’re one to talk.” Then Cas steps into view and Chuck blanches a bit, worried that he just let something slip. Dean waves a hand back at him, letting him know he doesn’t have to worry.

 

            “Um, the others are back.” Chuck announces. “Jeep’s still being unloaded but Azazel and all of them should be heading down to wash up and eat any time.” There’s a raised eyebrow to accompany his words and Dean gets that he’s trying to say ‘if you want to avoid them you better start hurrying up.’

 

            He nods and when Dean and Cas are back to walking down the hallways he mutters, “Guess we’re eating in our rooms again tonight.”

 

            Cas tilts his head. “How come? That is a bad thing?”

 

            Dean shrugs. “Not really. Just don’t wanna eat in the dining room if that’s where the new convoy’s heading. Guess you could say I don’t really get a long with most of them.”

 

            “…You seem to not get a long with quite a few people here.” Cas ventures.

 

            “Meh.” Dean tilts his head to the ceiling as they round another corner. “Yeah, guess so. Two of these new ones are just complete assholes. Lilith, I mentioned her earlier, is one of them. Just kind of an all-around bitch. And Ezekiel, he’s alright, but he hasn’t shown enough personality for me to really know him yet. And then there’s a new guy, Berry or Bart or something, haven’t talked to him much either, but he’s kind of an up-tight prick.” He grins sideways at Cas. “Guess we really know how to pick ‘em, huh Cas?”

 

            Castiel softly shakes his head, smiling. “As long as you all manage to live together without confrontation, I suppose you don’t necessarily have to get a long with everyone.”

 

            “It’d probably be too boring if I did.” Dean chuckles. Somewhere in the hallways, he can hear the soft pounding of somebody running along the tiled floors. It gives him pause, but he doesn’t hear anyone yelling yet, so it can’t mean anything bad.

 

            “So, if you’ve run out of chicken now, what do you think they’ll serve you for dinner t-”

 

            Whoever it is flying through the hallways skids out noisily into theirs behind them. Dean turns around just to see the new guy, speak of the devil, come to a skittered halt a few yards away, panting loudly. Dean’s automatically on edge, too ingrained to not take anyone looking panicked instantly as a threat, but his worries are put on hold as the new guy gushes out in a quick release of shocked air,

 

            “Cassy?!”

 

            Dean’s lost. He’s about to ask what the hell this guy think’s he’s doing running around kicking up a fuss, when next to him he hears Cas, sounding like he’s been punched directly in the gut.

 

            “Bal?!”

 

            The word is nearly a whisper, and he turns to see the mouth-gaping stunned expression on the omega’s face. It only lasts for a second though because in Dean’s next blink, Cas is on the floor behind him, tackled to the ground by the beta.

 

 

            Dean kind of gapes like a confused fish out of water for a few seconds, mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he looks on. His first thought is that they’re fighting and he has the quick flustered moment of trying to figure out which side he’s supposed to be taking before he realizes that no, there are no punches being thrown. The new guy and Cas roll around on the floor, clinging to each other with death-like grips, both spewing half sentences that make no sense.

 

            “How are you h-”

            “My god, I can’t believe-”

            “You’re here-”

            “You pesky little devil-”

            “Where the hell have-”

            “I can’t believe-”

 

            Dean finally shakes himself out of his stupor and steps closer to the babbling couple, feeling completely out of the loop. “I’m …gunna go ahead and guess that you two know each other?!” He calls loudly, almost shouting to be heard over them.

 

 

            That finally seems to slow them down, but all they do is pause, still staring wide-eyed at each other, half hugging-half gripping. Finally ‘Bal’ seems to pull himself together and lightly punches Castiel in the stomach. “You right proper _dick_! I thought you were dead!”

 

            Castiel only smiles, completely undeterred by the uncalled for punch. “I thought _you_ were… well, I hoped you weren’t. I prayed that you weren’t but I was so afraid that…” Bal stops Cas’ mumbling by pulling the other’s head to his chest, wrapping both arms around his head in a tight squeezing hug.

 

            Castiel allows it for a second, before he grunts and mumbles through the squeeze, “Bal, you’re on my bad arm. Could you move?” Bal opens his eyes at that and a confused frown stretches across his face. He finally lets go of his hold on the other and moves to sit up. Castiel doesn’t even reach a sitting position before Bal’s grabbing at his arm, half out of the sling by their tumbling.

 

            “Your bad arm…?” He looks at the wrapped gauze before looking up at Cas’ face with a baffled glare. “Where the hell did you get this? Who the hell did this to you?” He stops for a second and then shakes his head. “Where the hell have you been?”

 

            Castiel is unaffected by the half-angry interrogation, simply smiling and seeming dazed as he pulls away to sit up on his own.

 

            Dean’s still standing a few feet away, feeling pretty damn put-out right about now. “How about you two start with ‘how the hell’ you two know each other?!”        

           

            They both pause and half-look at him, though neither seem to be able to fully tear their eyes away from the other. After a second Castiel mumbles out, “Dean, this is… this is Bal- Balthazar. He’s my…” He finally fully looks at Dean, an almost wondrous expression on his face. “This is my best friend. The one I told you about before.”

 

            Dean has to blink a few times to process this new information.

 

            Balthazar is smiling now, questions seemingly forgotten for the moment as he pats his hands up and down Castiel’s torso and head, examining him for other injuries. “I can’t believe…you’re the one who they’ve been radioing in on and on about this whole time. You’ve been here for days and I…” He sighs, shaking his head again with a smile.

 

            Cas suddenly sits more straight and leans forward to grab Balthazar by the arm, stopping his movements, his eyes wide, hopeful, and urgent. “The others! Bal, the others, are they…are they with you? Do you know where they…” His words drift off as the smile slips off of the beta’s face.

 

            Balthazar shakes his head slowly, a serious and somber expression quickly taking up his features. “No…I would have hoped that they were with you. I guess that means…” He frowns, and finally looks Cas up and down, from head to toe. “Does that mean you’re by yourself? Have you been on your own this whole time?”

 

            Dean can see Castiel’s bout of joy quickly fizzling out. He haltingly decides to step forward and he crouches down to be at the same level as the other two. Both Castiel and Balthazar are quiet now for a long drawn out moment, some unknown tension building in the air that Dean doesn’t understand. “So, um…would one of you like to start explaining what exactly is going on here?” He breaks the silence quietly. Something’s happening here, but his confusion’s only building. “Balthazar, you’ve been here for over two weeks… how are you two a part of the same camp?”

 

            That finally seems to draw some of the attention away from their grand meeting. Castiel looks at him, a flash of guilt and surprise flickering across his face before he looks down at the ground.

 

            Balthazar gives Cas one more once-over before he faces Dean. “We are… or were part of the same camp. I’ve known Cassy for years. Since we were children.”

 

            Dean tilts his head at the beta, confused. “But when we took you in… you said that your camp had burned down to the ground?” He doesn’t miss the way Cas flinches, eyes still turned away.

 

            Balthazar nods, though there’s a deep frown in his face and an annoyed glare to go with it. “Yes, Dean, I did. It had. Is there any particular reason you felt like bringing this up or do you just enjoy being a dick?” Oh, there it is, the sarcastic ‘you’re a dim-wit, why are you talking to me’ tone that Dean had used to match the beta up with the title of ‘up-tight prick’.

 

            Dean ignores him and instead turns to Castiel. “Cas?” He questions purposefully, eyebrow raised.

 

            Very slowly, Castiel looks up to meet Dean’s eyes. He looks sad, guilty, and …a little scared all rolled up into one expression, but Dean powers through past those sad puppy-eye’s to force out the question, “Something you wanna tell me?”    

 

            Cas licks his chapped lips, stalling, before he finally sighs and nods. “It’s true.”

 

            Dean wants more than that. “What, exactly, is true?”

 

            Castiel looks down at the ground once more before he looks back up, sad blue eyes meeting searching green ones. His shoulders slump, defeated. “My camp burned down. It’s gone.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nine out of ten doctor's recommend leaving a comment.


	8. Unveiling

 

 

 

“This is bullshit!” Dean kicks a rag hard enough that it flies across the room and knocks his deodorant off of the far dresser.

“Dean, calm down.”

“No!” He knows he shouldn't be yelling at his brother. It's not his fault. But he's taking this in way too good of a stride. “He lied to me! He lied to _us_. All of us!”

He's pacing a hole through the bottom of his bedroom floor and Sam is lounging on his bed, using his presence as a damper on Dean's temper.

“What did you expect? So he didn't want us to know that he didn't have a camp. What else was he supposed to do?” Sam sighs, but Dean just shakes his head at him.

“He coulda' told us! He didn't have to hide it. I _asked_ him a hundred times, and he got _mad at me_ for asking. What the hell was his plan anyways for tomorrow then? When we drove him? Was he expecting us to just drop him off in the middle of hells-bells nowhere and let him walk away on his own?”

“Probably.” Sam mumbles, head falling back to land on Dean's pillow. It's getting late, and he knows that if he doesn't put an end to Dean's grumbling soon, it'll just keep going throughout the night. “I mean, we _did_ tell him that if that's what he wanted, then that's what we would do. He never once said we'd actually be bringing him to a camp.”

“But he doesn't _have_ a camp, Sammy! Where was he gunna go?!” Dean splays his hands wide, waiting for any sort of answer.

Sam groans and leans back up on his elbows to tiredly glare at him. “I. Don't. Know. You'll just have to ask him for yourself tomorrow morning, Dean.”

“And Balthazar! Balthazar of all people is his little bestie from another nest-y?!” They both flinch as soon as the words leave his mouth. That had sounded really lame out loud. Dean ignores it and shakes his head again. “What are the odds. He's been here, nagging up our asses about how unorganized our camp is for over two weeks, and here we are picking up _his_ camp members all over the place.”

“We've picked up _one_ -”

“And his camp burned down! Where does he get off ever judging our camp when his doesn't even _exist_ anymore. The fucking nerve of that guy.”

“You're working yourself up over nothing Dean. It didn't even bother you before Cas came into this.” That gets Dean to pause. Sam's right. He never gave a shit about Balthazar's bitching before. He huffs and slumps down onto the bed beside his outstretched brother.

“We were _this_ close to making the drive out there for nothing.” He lifts his hand, two fingers spread an inch apart from each other. Sam shrugs.

“We might still have to.” Dean shoots him a withered glare but Sam ignores it. “Nobody has said that the trip is off.”

“Maybe _I_ say that the trip is off.”

Now it's Sam's turn to give him a worn glare. “Dean.” Is all he says because they both know that that's not how this is going to work.

Dean sighs. “… Any chance Balthazar ever mentioned how his camp burned down in the first place?”

Sam hums and thinks back. After a moment he shakes his head. “No, I don't think he ever has.”

“Great. Perfect.”

 

“Well, just look at this way,” Sam says, sitting up to cross his gigantic legs in front of him. “Now we know that Cas doesn't have a camp out there. And his best friend is here. So maybe we really won't have to make the drive back to the city at all. And now we know for certain that there's no new camp in the area. It's one less problem to worry about.”

Dean runs his hand over his face for a few seconds before he nods. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe. But then what? Are we supposed to just let Cas stay here?” He chuckles without any real humor. “Even if we did, he's never once even hinted at wanting to stay. His only goal has been to leave since the second he woke up.”

“… true.” Sam shrugs. “Maybe he will still want to leave. Who knows, maybe Balthazar will want to leave with him. Which would kind of suck. He's one of the only few who will still go on trips outside of camp. It might be a bit of a set-back to lose him.”

Dean just hums.

To be honest, he's not all that worried about losing Balthazar. Him and the beta never exactly got along and he doubts they'd really run into any problems if he did leave. Balthazar had only just started to fit in around camp anyways.

But he _is_ still miffed over the fact that Cas had tried playing him.

“Listen, just don't let this bug you so much.” Sam stands up with a groan and stiffly starts cracking his back. It's late. More than two hours have passed since Castiel's big revelation and it's about time to let the subject rest. “It could have turned out worse. Cas could have been trying to lure us out into a raid in Croat country. Or… I don't know, but it definitely could be worse. Him lying about having a camp is kind of the least of our problems right now, to be honest.”

“Yeah, I know…” But still.

“Either way, you can try to get some answers tomorrow. We'll figure out if we're still leaving and everything will get sorted out. But for now, I'm going to bed.” He announces tiredly. Sam crosses his arms and gives Dean a look, a wordless order to try and do the same.

Instead of agreeing Dean just slowly raises a sly eyebrow over at him while he gradually inches towards the exit. “Are you going back to _your_ bed?”

Sam rolls his eyes, even as a small blush rushes to his cheeks. “That's none of your business.” He mutters and turns towards the door.

“She's going to cut off your dick one of these nights while you sleep, just watch.” Sam huffs and pretends not to hear him. Now Dean's just deflecting. “She seems like the crazy type. I'm telling you, sleep with one eye open!” Dean can feel an empty grin starting to tug at his lips even as his brother slams the door shut behind him. Still, he calls out loudly “She's a selfish one! Don't get too comfortable!”

He can barely hear the muffled yell of “Shut _up_ , Dean!” Come back through the door and he chuckles. It didn't matter how many times he voiced the fact that he didn't like Ruby. Sam never took any of his complaining seriously anyways.

 

He lets himself fall back on the bed. He'd kept his cool about the situation all night long, all the way up until the moment he'd crossed his bedroom's threshold.  
As far as Castiel knew, Dean was just happy and supportive that he'd managed to find his friend. Or at least, that's all Castiel had pretended to notice. Dean knows that Castiel's not that oblivious and he had no doubt seen Dean's growing disgruntlement with the newfound situation as the night had dragged on.

But even with his conflicting feelings towards Cas' revelation about his camp, he had enough common courtesy to let Castiel and Balthazar have the night to reconcile with each other without raining on their odd little parade. Really, what were the chances that one of Castiel's camp members, that his _best friend_ , had been living under the same roof as them for several weeks. It was a little surreal.

 

In the end, with some very wordy reasons and complaints, Balthazar had somehow talked his way into staying with Castiel for the night. At first, nobody really liked the idea of it. Bal was still pretty new to the camp and his outgoing trip with the others was supposed to help prove himself as a viable member of their group.

But it had become apparent pretty quickly that it would be more of a hassle than not to try splitting him and Castiel up for the night. The pair wouldn't step farther then two feet away from each other until someone had finally relented and allowed them to spend the night together. The holding room had been locked from the outside however, with a forewarning that they had better behave themselves. Balthazar had whined that they were being ridiculous. That the camp had nothing to worry about and that 'Honestly, I'm a bit offended that you all don't trust me' but his arguing had deceased fairly quickly after a few reprimands.

 

So now, for the second night in a row, Dean was back to sleeping in his own bed. Well, sleep being the goal. He had a lot on his mind. There were a lot of plans to be either made or canceled. The trip was no longer planned for day break, but Sam was right in saying that it was still technically set in motion to happen.

 

…. And he'd be lying to himself if he tried to pretend that he wasn't a little wary of falling asleep again. He was a bit scared and unsettled over what had happened the night before. He really didn't want to wake up to a foreign feeling and frankly, extra sensitive and… extra-freaky, boner like he had before. That had been just way too weird. He wasn't over it. He spent the entire day trying to keep the incident stuffed into the back of his mind, pretending that it'd never happened. Because really, what else was he supposed to do about it?

Call a meeting with the others? Have a giant meet up of ‘Hey, I kinda had a bit of an extra odd stiff this morning and was wondering if anyone else had too?’ Yeah, no thanks. The last thing he wanted to do was have a discussion about boners with anyone else at the camp, or god forbid, his brother. He shudders at even the thought. Yeah, he'd quicker ignore the presence of his own dick entirely, before he had _that_ conversation with Sam.

 

And he's way too worked up to sleep right away anyways. He lets that fear fade away to the recesses of his mind again, turning back to his more immediate troubles.

…He had really felt like he had been getting somewhere with Castiel earlier. Hell, he had _confided_ in him. Told him his story. And Cas had seemed so open and understanding. But it'd been a lie. Castiel didn't have a camp. Well, he'd _had_ a camp, just not anymore. So, why did he have to lie about it? Dean felt like an idiot for letting himself fall for it.

The daylights flicker off and the nightlights dimly flicker on. Dean groans and rolls over.

Sam did have a point though. There was no use in getting upset over it. So what if a stranger had lied? Because that's all Castiel still is to them at this point; a stranger. Dean doesn't know anything about Cas besides a few slips of the tongue that at any moment just may turn out to be lies as well.

Cas was only supposed to be here for three days, he'd had no reason to trust them with his secrets. If Cas still wanted to leave tomorrow, then so be it. And if he didn't…. well, Dean doesn't know what would happen then but they would figure it out as they went.

 

But he can't help remembering how eager Cas had been to go back. He'd said that his best friend _and_ his sister were waiting for him. But if Balthazar was here… then… where was his sister? Was Cas lying about that too? He recalls the way Cas had looked when he had spoken of her and he wants to believe that there had been some truth, however small it may turn out to be, behind his statements. It couldn't have all been a lie.

…could it?

Dean groans again and throws a pillow over his face in a useless attempt at blocking his thoughts out. Whatever. It didn't matter. He'd just have to wait until tomorrow morning to find out.

 

 

Morning comes fairly quickly. He's gotten even less sleep then what he had hoped for, constantly being awoken by the odd dream and lingering nightmare, but thankfully, he had managed to get by without experiencing another freakish wet dream.

He takes his time doing his morning rituals. He gets a shower, brushes his teeth and dresses in his usual jean-and-flannel combo. The dregs of after-sleep helps give his brain a barrier to his problems and he tries to hold onto the indifference that comes with it.

On his way out, he momentarily contemplates swinging by the holding room, but then decides that he has no reason to. Cas isn't his job this morning. Not until they decide whether or not they're leaving. So instead he swings by his brother's room, surprised when the giant is actually there for a change, before they head towards the dining room for breakfast.

 

He should have expected that this morning would be a bit different then usual. Really, the last three or four had been far different from usual.

But this time when they enter the dining hall, it's to find that their usual group's table is completely deserted. It takes a minute of searching before they find Jo, Chuck, and Jess relocated on the opposite side of the room.

And across from them, sits Balthazar and Castiel.

Seeing Cas sitting there so casually, without the accompaniment of him or his brother, is weird. It sits odd with him. Dean tries to ignore it though as he heads straight for the food, Sam trailing slowly behind him.

He knows that Sam can see through his indifference. The way he keeps his attention solely on plating up the food before him. He's made it a strong point not to mention anything about the omega or the pending trip throughout the entire morning but he can tell the longer he pretends that the issue isn't there, the more apparent it becomes. Sam plays along with it though, grabbing his own bowl of stale off-brand corn flakes (ew) and heads to the new table without comment.

It's a little awkward then. Sam sits down in his usual spot next to Jess before he seems to catch on to the new problem and his back goes stiff as he looks up at his brother. The tables can only really seat six at a time and Dean has an odd moment of standing there self-consciously, plate in hand, feeling out of place as the six look up at him. He almost considers going and sitting at their old table like a loner before Jess jumps up, volunteering to go get an extra foldable chair, despite Sam's and Dean's objections.

The table's occupants are near silent as they wait for Jess to return. When she does, Dean plops himself down at one end of the table between her and Balthazar and he tries to pretend that everything is normal.

 

It's clear that the group had been talking before the two alphas joined them, but as Sam and Dean get comfortable, the table stays quiet. The background hum of everyone else in the dining room talking only makes their table's silence less discreet; more palpable.

Balthazar looks right at home though, munching away like he does any other day of the week, but Cas is staring down at his bowl, stirring his food mindlessly, not daring to look up. After a minute Jo and Jess pick up a random topic, something about needing more shampoo soon, and Dean just stabs at his breakfast.

This is wrong. This weird tension in the room is wrong. It shouldn't be there. This is, as much as he sometimes grew to hate it, home and he shouldn't feel like… like the fucking extra at his own breakfast.

Dean can only handle the aimless chatter for so long. He lasts about ten minutes before he decides that if no one else is going to bring it up, then he'll just have to be the one to falcon-punch the elephant in the room.

“So, have you two decided what we're doing today?” He casually asks as soon as there is a lull in the conversations.

There's another silent moment at the table as the words catch up to everyone. Dean feels a small satisfaction when Cas _finally_ is forced to glance away from the food in front of him and his gaze drags Dean's way. Dean keeps their eyes locked, refusing to look way. They can't all avoid the topic forever. “I need to know. We haven't started packing anything yet and we need to start soon if you still want to head out today.”

All eyes at the table slowly turn to zero in on the omega. Castiel gently sets his spoon down in his near empty bowl. His gaze dances over to the beta next to him for a second before he looks back to Dean. “I… feel like I should still leave today.” He bites on the side of his bottom lip. “But…”

“But I don't want him to.” Balthazar cuts in loudly, crossing his arms in front of him. “I tried, but he refuses to finish discussing it with me.” To Dean's surprise, Balthazar shoots Castiel a disapproving frown. “Guess now we'll have to do it in front of everyone.”

“That's not necessary, we can leave.” Jess softly speaks up, motioning to the others at the table.

“Oh no, please feel free to stay. Maybe you can help me get through to him.” Balthazar calls flippantly with an annoyed tone, like this was something he'd been trying to broach on all morning, but had only now successfully been able to bring it up. “Because obviously he doesn't care to listen to me. I'm just talking out of my ass.”

“Bal, you're being unreasonable.”

“ _You're_ being a dunderhead!” Bal quips back angrily, a small vein in his neck beginning to bulge. “You won't listen to anything I have to say. I won't sit here and be ignored, because you feel like getting yourself killed over nothing.” Their demeanor towards each other jumps and does a complete one-eighty from the happy-go-lucky mood they'd had from the night before.

Cas' nostrils flare as he breathes in deep through his nose and exhales, pointedly keeping his eyes down on his food, refusing to reply. The air is tight. The conversation somehow a sore one. Dean wonders what all had exactly been discussed behind closed doors between the two to suddenly make them act like this towards each other.

Chuck chooses this silent moment to stand up without comment, and walk away. He never was one for conflict.

Dean once again feels a bit out of place, like he was almost intruding on a lover's quarrel, as weird as that feels to think, when Balthazar leans forward on the table, forcing Castiel to meet his eyes and he calls out with a wide motioning arm, “Explain to them, to me, now, Cassy, why you feel the need to leave.” There's a challenging quirk to his gaze, like he's waiting for Castiel to concede and agree with him or speak and prove himself wrong.

Dean hadn't meant to fan the fires of some hidden argument between the two. If he'd known that they were sitting so close to a confrontation, he probably would have broached the subject a bit more gently.

A sharp glint flashes behind his eyes and Castiel's mouth draws into an unhappy firm line. “You know why.” He grits out, looking more and more upset.

“ _No._ I know exactly why you shouldn't.” Balthazar returns evenly. They stare hard at each other, both annoyed. Dean stamps down the small pleased feeling in his gut at the fact that maybe it wasn't just him who had a hard time dealing with the beta. But then again, Balthazar was Castiel's best friend. He must be more than used to his provoking attitude by now.

The silence between them drags out, the others at the table shifting uncomfortably. Dean watches as Castiel's jaw twitches, some unsaid conversation being passed between the two until Balthazar finally snaps his head away, looking fed up. “Fine, let it be that way.” He seems to reach a decision for himself and he puffs his chest out as he glances around at the table. “Castiel here wants to leave so that he can go searching for his missing sister.” He announces loudly with a ' _how-ridiculous is that'_ tone.

A look of betrayal flashes across Cas' face before he growls out, “That wasn't yours to tell!”

“Yes it is!” Bal nearly shouts, angry. “She was my friend too! But you need to face the facts.”

“There are no facts!” Castiel shouts back and this may be the first time since they met that Dean has actually seen him lose his temper. Castiel shoves his bowl to the middle of the table before he stands up.

Bal shoots out a hand to grab him by the wrist. “They're gone, Cassy! There's nothing you can do now.”

Castiel yanks his hand away with enough force that Balthazar falls backward, accidentally elbowing two bowls and a spoon off the table. As they clang loudly across the floor everyone's attention in the room is drawn to them. Multiple people stand up, readying for any fight or conflict. Dean's quick to stand too, raising his hands in a placating gesture, telling them to back off, to let it slide.

Even as he's doing this, Castiel is yelling back, “Just because you've given up on them, doesn't mean that I have!” He turns and starts marching away to the room's exit, an angry red shade coloring his face.

There's an odd unsettled moment where everyone's frozen and their eyes flash towards one another in a quick alarm. They're all at a loss of what to do.

Balthazar throws his hands up in irritation and growls, “I don't care what nonsense rule you all have about him being by himself. I'm not going after him.”

 

Sam and Dean's eyes meet over the table before Dean decides to bite the bullet. “I've got it.” His food is gradually spreading across the tiled floor anyways, so might as well. He heads to the exit, mind still reeling, trying to keep up with what just happened.

 

…That conversation had been abrupt. And unexpected. At least he had answers now. Or at least, one of them.

 

“Cas, wait up!” He jogs down the connecting hall to catch up with the frustrated omega. At the last second, Castiel swings around mid-step to glare at him and Dean barely manages not to run into him. There's an angry scowl to his lips and his good hand is clenched into a tight fist by his side for a split second before he brings it up to jab it into Dean's chest repeatedly.

“So what if that's the reason I want to leave? It's a viable reason. I still want to go. You promised!”

Dean stumbles back, away from his barrage of chest-prodding, hands coming out in front of him. “Whoa there, man. I never said you couldn't.”

Castiel stares at him hard, chest heaving as he takes in a few sharp breaths. His ire is tangible in the way his eyes flash before his arm falls away back to his side.

Dean waits until Castiel looks like his anger is beginning to get back under control before he haltingly steps forward again. When Castiel doesn't lash out at him or back away, he places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You okay, Cas? You… got yourself really worked up in there.”

Castiel takes in another deep breath, eyes closing as his chest expands, before he releases it in a gush of air. Finally, he looks up at Dean from under his eyelashes and nods. “I'm fine, Dean. I am sorry that I caused a scene.” But there's still an underlying fire in his words, and he knows that he's only saying it to keep Dean off his back.

Dean squeezes his hand on his shoulder for a second before he finally lets go. “Nah, it's fine man. Fights around here happen all the time.” Well, not exactly all the time. But if it will calm the frustration he can still see running under Castiel's skin, he'll downplay it all he needs to.

It's quiet in the empty hallway as Dean gives Cas enough time to breathe. He was debating on whether or not he should try and get Cas to head back towards breakfast when from behind him he hears,

“Is everything alright in here?” They both turn and Dean has to keep himself from rolling his eyes when he see's Met poking out from around the corner of the dining hall. The old guy can be a bit intrusive sometimes, but he seems to always mean well.

“Yeah, everything's fine. Go back to breakfast.” Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and waits for the predictable stalling.

“Are you sure...?” His eyes trail obviously over Castiel in caution, whose pointedly looking away at the far wall. “Is there anything that-”

Dean just grunts, annoyed at not having the time to talk to Cas alone. Without waiting for him to finish, he turns and gives Cas a gentle push in the opposite direction, ignoring the plump man behind them. “We can go find somewhere more private to talk about it.” He mumbles to Cas, who just nods and stiffly follows his lead.

They walk away, down another hallway before Castiel sighs. His voice is finally getting back to a normal tone when he mutters, “I don't want to go back to that room.” Dean correctly assumes that Cas is talking about the holding room. “I really don't.” He eyes Dean sideways for a minute before Dean gives in and nods.

“…Okay. We'll find somewhere else to go.” He thinks for a second on where else they could go where they won't run the risk of somebody barging in on them. “This way.” He decides and takes a right turn instead of the left they were heading in.

A minute later and they're there. He pushes the door open without a word and Castiel walks in without hesitation. It's the only place Dean can think of. “This alright?”

Castiel stands in the middle of the small room and glances around. After a moment he twists around and gives Dean a curious look. “This is your room?”

Dean leans against a dresser near the door and shrugs. “Yeah. You can tell?”

Castiel looks around again and Dean tries to squash down the self-consciousness that always accompanies someone new entering your territory. It's a lot more lived in then the bare holding room. The room is larger but it also doesn't have an attached bathroom. There are a few pairs of jeans and shirts laying about, his deodorant is still laying on the floor across the room from where he knocked it over. His dresser is covered in various magazines, maps, gun parts and weapons, ones that he should probably be keeping out of reach of the outsider but nothing is assembled so he doesn't feel like it's really an immediate problem. His eyes land on a copy of ‘Busty Asian Beauty's’ that's laying open beside him and he's quick to shove that off behind his dresser as Cas turns back around.

“Yes. It smells like you.” Now that gets his attention.

His head shoots up and he raises an eyebrow. “It does?”

Cas nods. He kind of stands there awkwardly until Dean realizes that he has nowhere to sit. He remembers what Cas had said about the bed in the holding room smelling too strong and he assumes that his probably would too. “Sorry, I don't have any chairs in here.” He might as well finish clearing the dresser beside him anyways, so he gets to work picking up the various objects and setting them down in a far corner of the room. “Here, you can sit here.”

Cas just waits patiently until it's cleared before he walks over and jumps up onto the woodwork. As Dean's finishing setting his stuff down he calls over his shoulder to break up the other's silence. “So, what do I smell like then?”

Castiel tilts his head at him for a moment before he shrugs his good shoulder. “I don't know. I never really tried to distinguish yours apart from the others before but… it's more… apparent in here.” He trails off, looking away. At his reluctance, Dean decides to let it go. He is curious as to what he smells like to someone else, especially if Cas somehow smells things differently than him, but it is a little weird trying to describe somebody's… scent to them. It's a little too personal for him anyways.

But maybe… maybe he can ask him again later.

Dean goes and slumps down on his bed across from Cas. There's a quietness between them, but it's not uncomfortable. More like Castiel's finally come down from his bad mood from before and is now starting to sulk on his own. Dean sighs.

“So uh, I hate to bring it up right after what happened out there… but we can't exactly ignore it.” He clasps his hands in front of him and sits up straighter to make sure Cas knows that he has his full attention. “So… talk to me.”

Castiel eyes the floor. “There isn't much to discuss. I want to leave. Balthazar doesn't want me to.” He summarizes.

“Because you have nowhere to go once you leave.” He assumes. That much he can gather from the argument.

Castiel looks a little put-out but there's a determination to his face. “I'll find a way. I did before.”

“…And when you say 'before', are you referring to how we found you half-dead in the city?” The tone in Dean's voice doesn't seem to help Castiel's mood and he looks up to softly glare at him.

“Does it matter? You promised to drive me back when the time came. It's come and I want to leave.”

Dean grunts and shakes his head. “Of course it matters. How am I supposed to feel, knowing you want us to drop you off all on your own? That's a bonafide death-wish, Cas.”

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, frustrated. “That's besides the-! Dean, I know you mean well, but… I can't stay here.” He sighs and looks Dean straight in the eye. “I need to go back.”

Castiel's deflection on his own well-being makes a small bubble of anger instantly spark in his chest. He wants to call him out on it. Demand that he recognize that no, it is so _not_ besides-the-point. But that would just be another argument waiting to happen and that's not where this conversation needs to go. “To look for your sister?” Dean ventures. “Is that right? That's why you want to leave?”

He waits. Castiel seems hesitant to reply but Dean already knows what his answer will be.

“Yes.” Castiel finally mutters. “You of all people should understand, Dean.” Their gaze holds and Dean can feel a familiar tug in his gut. So that's why Castiel had seemed so immersed in Dean's story about reuniting with his brother yesterday. He hoped to do the same.

Fuck.

He knows personally that there's no getting around that one. If their positions were switched he probably would have already raised hell trying to leave. Instead of letting Cas dodge around the conversation like he so often liked to do, Dean decides to dive right in. “Do you have idea where she is? And… what exactly happened that made you get separated in the first place?”

Castiel's glad that he seems to finally be getting somewhere with someone and he sits up straighter, somehow appearing even more attentive than what his usual demeanor is. “Not exactly, but I hope that if I return to where our camp was, I can maybe find a clue as to where she went.” He ignores Dean's second question.

“That's all you have to go on?” Dean lightly groans and he pinches his nose. “Damnit. When's the last time you saw her?”

Cas bites on the inside of his lip. “It's _something_. And… I'm not sure. I haven't exactly been able to keep my days straight… but I think it's been about three weeks. Maybe more.”

Dean watches him, lets that information sink in for a second, before he quietly asks, “And is that… when your camp burned down?”

Castiel almost manages to not flinch but Dean still catches it.

“I don't want to talk about that.”

Okay, so he'll take that as a yes. “I know it's not any of my business Cas, but… was it bad?” Castiel squints at him and Dean sighs. Better to rip the band-aide off in one go. “I mean… -I understand that you don't want to talk about it, but… Cas, were you there when your camp burned down? Were you all there? Is there a chance… that maybe...?”

“She made it out.” Castiel's tone is forceful, meant to deter any other possibility. It holds the kind of conviction someone has when they don't have proof, but refuse to believe anything else. “She's alive.”

Dean doesn't respond. It's clear that Castiel's made up his mind. After a silent minute Castiel speaks up quietly.

“Balthazar seems to think that it's a lost cause. That if she is alive, she's long gone by now. But… Dean, I'll never find her if I never look.” There's a mute urgency in his eyes, like he needs to physically hear Dean agree with him, and Dean can't help but slowly nod in return.

“Yeah, okay Cas… I… I get it.” He tries to give him a comforting smile, but he feels like it comes off more as a frown than anything else. Still, Cas' lips tilt up the slightest bit at one side, glad that Dean's on board.

Dean, on the other hand, can feel his insides pulling. In truth, he knows that Balthazar is probably right. He doesn't know much about what happened, but from what it sounds like, Castiel's sister is more than likely dead. Especially if she ended up in a similar situation as Castiel had been when they had found him. It truly was some freaky miracle that he'd managed to survive on his own in one of the roughest areas around for as long as he did.

It makes him feel guilty for telling Castiel about how he'd found his brother yesterday. If he'd known that Cas was in a similar situation, he never would have revealed that. He would have avoided giving him any more false hope.

He should tell Cas his true feelings on the situation. Work on letting him down easy. But with Cas' gaze trained on him; with that glint of optimism shining briefly behind those blue orbs, he finds that he just can't.

Dean hadn't listened to anyone, not even Bobby, when they had told him that searching for Sam was a lost cause. That Sam was dead. He'd refused to believe that was even an option and back then, he knows he would have latched onto the first person who'd have agreed with him. He really could have used an anchor back then, when everything had seemed so endlessly dismal. Could have used a small spark of hope in the otherwise completely despondent situation.

So with that first-hand knowledge running through his brain, he really finds that he just cannot open his mouth and crush Cas' hopes. He can't.

But Cas must see something slip across his face because his small smile wavers. His shoulders slump the slightest bit and he bites on the inside of his cheek. Dean can barely hear his murmur of “Why are you pretending to be so understanding?” The quietness of the question somehow makes it sound even louder in the room.

Dean blinks and can feel himself automatically posture in the defensive. He reflexively shoots back, “What's that supposed to mean?”

Castiel's knowing look doesn't falter. “You were angry at me. You _are_ angry at me. For lying. You've been upset since last night but you keep trying to hide it.” His head tilts and a suspicious crease grows between his eyebrows. “Why?”

Dean swallows down every retort and argument he can feel trying to climb out of his throat. Castiel's right. He _is_ mad at him. Everything is _not_ alright. If there is one thing that can get under Dean's skin the quickest, it's when somebody lies to his face.

So instead of arguing, he agrees. “You're right. I'm still pissed at you.” Castiel doesn't react to his admission, just waits patiently. “…this behind-the-back way of trying to get what you want done doesn't fly with me.”

That gets Castiel to frown. “I wasn't… -I was just trying to get you to take me back… that wasn't-” He doesn't stutter, his words are even, but even Cas seems to be having a hard time trying to hash his feelings out into a clear sentence. And damn if Dean doesn't know what that's like.

Dean saves him by holding his hand up. “I know. And I guess I can start to understand where you're coming from now. I still don't really get why you felt like you had to lie about having a camp, but from here on out, no more. Okay? No more lying.”

Cas thumbs over the edge of the fabric of his sling for a second before finally he nods, keeping his head down. “Okay.” His voice is quieter then it's been throughout the entire morning and it makes Dean frown. There's no conviction behind the word, like Cas is still contemplating it.

Before Dean can call him out on his uncertainty they're interrupted by the sound of feet shuffling on the other side of the door and they both look towards it. Soon after, a short but loud knock sounds.

“ _Dean?_ ”

He sighs. “Yeah, Sam?”

“ _Is, uh, Cas in there?_ ”

He looks over to him. Cas shrugs. Right before he opens his mouth to answer, Sam continues with.

“ _Balthazar's with me._ ”

Now Castiel scowls and Dean has to hold back a small waver of a smile. He waits, but all Castiel does is continue to frown.

After a second he can hear the beta's accent through the door, “ _Did you really have to-?_ ” Even through the woodwork, he can hear Balthazar's long sigh before he bangs louder on the door. “ _Cassy? Cassy, answer me._ ”

Castiel's chin falls down to his chest. Dean hollowly chuckles and stands up to make his way to the door. “Can't avoid him forever.” He calls back as he pushes it open wide. On the other side stands a grumpy looking Balthazar and a sheepish hovering Sam.

They stare at each other for a moment before Balthazar decides to barge in, pushing straight past Dean as if it wasn't even his room.

Dean and Sam both turn to watch him, perplexed by how at-home he acts as he stands in the middle of the room with his arms crossed in front of him. Dean can see Castiel's hard gaze trained on the beta from the corner of his eye even though Cas still stubbornly refuses to fully face him.

The two glare at each other for a moment and Dean can't tell if it makes him feel better or worse to know that prolonged eye contact seems to be a usual thing with Cas.

“Since when do you handle problems by storming off all in a heated mess?” Balthazar finally breaks the silence with a low disapproving tone.

“Since when do you treat me like an impotent child?” Castiel evenly returns.

Dean hangs back by the doorway, and lets them have this. He feels a little bad that Cas can't seem to catch a break today, going from argument to argument, but he's kinda brought this on himself. That's what you get when your lying catches up to you.

“You know good and well that that is the last thing I think of you as.” Balthazar glances in the Winchester's direction for a brief moment, like he's deciding on whether or not they'll encroach on their conversation, but when Dean refuses to leave (because _for fuck's sake_ this is his room) or step forward, Balthazar chooses to ignore them again and moves in closer to Castiel.

“Listen, I'm sorry that I yelled at you. But I'm not taking back what I said out there.” He says quietly. Castiel finally turns his face to him when Bal stands directly in front of him. “I don't think you going back there is going to solve anything. All it's going to do is…” Balthazar tapers off for a moment, rolling his lips together. “Is separate us again. Because I don't know if you did, but I _saw_ what the school looked like the next day. I went back there hoping for the same thing you do right now, and trust me when I say that there's nothing there. If you go back, you won't find anything.”

The muscles in Castiel's neck twitch, like he's holding himself back. After a few silent seconds he finally grits out, “Maybe they went back after you did. Maybe they left something you missed. If they're alive, they wouldn't just leave without leaving _some_ sign of where they went behind.”

Balthazar groans and closes his eyes. He reaches a hand up and massages the skin between his eyebrows with two fingers. “After what those monsters did, you really think they're going to leave a trail behind? Risk being found by _them?_ ” There's venom in his voice and he stops to breathe deeply before he continues, shoulders sagging. “ _Please_ Cassy. Don't do this. Just… let me talk to the people here. They'll probably let you stay.” Dean doesn't miss how Balthazar _almost_ looks at them but just manages to keep his eyes trained away.

Dean glances at his brother next to him and Sam just silently shrugs back. He can't deny that ever since last night the idea has been creeping up inside his head. It wouldn't be unheard of, but with the way things had started out at the camp with Cas, he knows that there would be some objections.

“I don't _want_ to stay.” Castiel says, eyes flashing. “Not when Anna might still be out there. Not if there's a single _chance_ that she might… that she might still be alive.” Castiel shakes his head a little side to side. “How can you not feel the same, Bal? What about Gabriel? Samandriel? Inias?” Balthazar seems to shrink back the slightest bit at Castiel's disappointed stare.

“Of course I feel the same.” Dean can barely hear Balthazar's reply. “But unlike _some_ people, I have a sense of self-preservation. I'd rather stay here, where it's safe, then run around searching for empty footprints in the sand.”

Castiel's chest expands with a deep breath and he shakes his head the slightest bit, like if he tries hard enough, he won't be able to hear Balthazar's words.

“… What if we did both?”

The two stop short at his interruption and turn to him, Sam joining in. With everyone's attention directed at him, Dean decides to just shrug and go with it. “I mean... why not? Does it have to be one or the other?”

Bal opens his mouth but then he closes it. Castiel stares at him, not moving to speak or react, like he'd half been expecting the question.

Dean finally takes a step closer inside and crosses his arms. “What if we still made the drive out there, and you got to have your look around, and whe- _if_ -” He changes at the last second at Castiel's squint, “you don't find anything, you come back with us. Instead of planning on a drop-off, we treat it more like… a reconnaissance."

Balthazar lifts a hand to draw his attention. "You mean like how we did it on my last trip out?" Dean gives him a look, and Balthazar clarifies, crossing his arms. "Azazel and Lilith dropped me and Ezekiel off at a neighborhood Cul-de-sac to check it out on our own while they went ahead. I mean, if that's what your suggesting, to drop Castiel off to look around and then pick him back up on your way back-"

"What?" Dean interrupts him, looking surprised. He shakes his head. "No, that's not what I- Wait, they dropped you two off on your own?" Balthazar blinks at his accusing tone. He looks over and Sam's giving him an equally alarmed look.

"Well… yes? Don't get me wrong, I don't appreciate being dropped off for an entire night, that's not exactly what I signed up for when I agreed for the leave, but-"

"You two, were on your own…for an entire _night?_ " Sam questions, eyebrows raising high on his forehead.

Castiel glances between all three, confused himself by the switch in conversation. Sam and Dean look at each other after Balthazar gives them a hesitant nod, not understanding what the problem was.

"That's not right…" Sam mutters, a crease forming on his forehead.

Dean shakes his head again. "No, it's not. There was no plan for a split-up. Especially at any Cul-de-sac or whatever. Why did they leave you behind?"

Balthazar shrugs. "Don't know. I was just following orders. They dropped us off with a few guns and a pack of food and water, and told us to search the houses, see if there was anything worth taking back for when they returned. Ezekiel didn't seem bothered by it, so I figured it was usual."

"Well it's not. We never split up into small numbers like that, unless we plan for it first. It's dangerous. Why the hell would…" Dean trails off, glancing at his brother again who seemed just as clueless. He'd have to talk to Bobby about that later. He didn't like the idea of Azazel and Lilith making their own plans on the side. It just stunk of trouble. He pushes the matter aside. One problem at a time. "Anyways, …I meant that we make the drive out to your old camp and, _as a group,_ wait while you had your look around before moving on. … How does that sound, Cas?” He tilts his head a bit, raises an eyebrow.

Cas keeps his mouth in a firm line, continuing to stare at him like he was waiting for the big catch. Balthazar turns to look at his friend for a second and then back towards both the Winchesters. “Is that really an option? You think they'd be okay with wasting enough gas for the ride out?” He sounds dubious, like he already knows how much the idea would be rejected among the other campers.

Dean glances at his brother but Sam seems intent on hearing him out without piping up with his own thoughts. “I mean… I'd have to discuss it with the others but… I don't really see why not? We were already thinking of hitting up a gas station that's kind of in that direction anyway. Maybe… maybe we could still swing by your camp and...” He gives Cas an apologetic look for his next words. “If it doesn't turn out so well, at least you'd have somewhere to return to.”

“We could probably talk Ellen and Bobby into it.” Sam finally speaks. “Met's normally pretty passive when it comes to these things, so he might be on board.” Sam's face is scrunching up, probably thinking about the other people who _wouldn't_ be so on board with Cas returning.

Dean shrugs and grins. “Hell, we could always still make the trip without telling anyone else the plan. It's hard to turn someone away when they're already back at your door.”

Everyone's quiet for a few minutes after that. Dean's already feeling a little guilty at how much he's leaning towards his last suggestion, already anticipating the blow-back he'd get for inviting Castiel back to stay without permission. But he's done worse, and frankly, he's like ninety percent sure he could get away with it. Okay, maybe more like eighty percent sure. Seventy.

“Cas?” Balthazar quietly asks.

Castiel's eyes shift back and forth slowly across the floor, thinking. His hands, the good one and the one hanging in the sling, ball up into clenched fists and loosen again a few repetitive times. He exhales and his shoulders sag when he finally looks up, eyes not so much resigned, as they are just simply sad. “If it will make you feel better, then I suppose I'll agree.” Bal's demeanor instantly begins to relax but Castiel speaks again with a more assertive tone, “You have to understand though, if I find anything, and I fully intend on doing so, I won't be coming back. I am going to find my sister.”

Bal just nods, agreeing. “Of course, Cassy! I'd never expect you not to. And if we don't find anything, then we'll just have to keep our eyes out for anything in the future. I'm not asking for you to give up on Anna.” Bal smiles thinly and Dean chooses not to comment on the fact that that was _exactly_ what Bal had been asking him to do earlier.

Cas just drags his gaze to Dean. “Can we still leave today?”

Dean opens his mouth but Sam beats him to it.

“That depends on whether or not we're going to talk to everyone about you staying before we go.” He gives Dean a look. “Personally, I think it'd be better to hash it all out beforehand instead of waiting to come back and face a fall-out. And I don't think it's really fair to drag anyone out on a trip without them knowing exactly what's going on.”

Cas doesn't look too happy about his answer and Dean sighs. “Look Cas, I know you're in a hurry. I understand. But you're the one who kept everything from us and we have an entire camp to look out for. I know what it's like to be in your position and I want to help. I really do.” Dean tries to ignore Sam's guilty stare beside him. He trudges on. “But Sammy's got a point. We should discuss it with everyone else. Give us a _little_ extra time to talk it over with them and then we'll make the trip. It's not like-“ He breaks off and grimaces before he speaks again, quieter. “It's not like you're going to miss anything if it takes you a little longer to get there. You wouldn't even be making the trip in the first place if we hadn't found you before.”

Cas' face evens out and he huffs. “You keep saying ‘found’, like I'm some lost animal you rescued. I think of it more as ‘kidnapped.’”

“Whatever the hell it was, I'm happy they did it.” Bal calls with a roll of his eyes. “Plan sounds fine to me.”

They all stand around waiting until Castiel hops down from his seat on the desk, seemingly done with the conversation, a tired look pulling at his eyes. “Whatever. Just work out what needs to be worked out. If they reject your plan, tell me.” He gives a soft pointed glare at Dean. “Immediately. So I can make my plans to leave.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” Dean mutters under his breath, fending off the small smile trying creep up on his face at Castiel's sudden demanding tone.

“Bal.” Cas calls over his shoulder as he exits the room in a huff. Balthazar just looks perplexed, glancing at the two brothers.

Begrudgingly, Balthazar follows his friend out the door, trying to snuff out the small blush rising on his cheeks as he calls out, “I'm not your damn lap-dog Cassy. You can't just order me about!”

Sam and Dean stand there, both arms crossed as they look at the empty doorway. Dean leans sideways and nudges his brother's shoulder without looking away.

“Where exactly does Cas think he's going right now?”

Sam softly snorts and shakes his head, ignoring him. “C'mon Dean, looks like we've got some work to do.”

“Yeah, sure. If that's what you want to call it.”

 

*


	9. Midday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there are 30000001X excuses for why this is like 5 months late but I'm going to go ahead and save those for the next time I decide to be a horrible person.
> 
> There's a lot going on in the next few scenes, so I decided to break it up (I know, i'm sorry)  
> So i'm sticking to short chapters for now and hopefully the lessened pressure of having long chapters will kick my butt into updating more. 
> 
> Again, oh my god, i'm so sorry. Oops.

 

 

                                                             

 

 

Balthazar’s upset with him. He knows that he is. No matter how well the beta tries to hide it, Castiel has known him for the better half of his life and he can tell with every forced smile and overly nonchalant twirl of words that Bal is holding himself back from bearing down on him.

It probably doesn’t help that Castiel is making no move to encourage this ‘everything-is-perfectly-alright’ attitude that Balthazar is trying to exude. The conversation between them has been forced and practically one-sided ever since they left the Winchesters that morning.

“And what the hell is this get-up? Who gave you this trash garb to where?” Balthazar plucks at the sleeve of his off-white shirt with a disapproving frown as they walk down the hall.

Castiel holds back a sigh. “Sam did.” He says simply. “Or rather… he did first. And Alastair did second.”

“Well, it’s hideous. You look mental.”

“It serves its purpose.”

Balthazar just exhales with a silent roll of his eyes.

When they had first left the Winchesters, Balthazar had shown Castiel to his room. His own personal room. Which had only resulted in leaving Castiel in a fouler mood.

It was just another reminder of how their old way of life is gone. Something that he has been trying his very best to avoid thinking about.

How everything is different now. Their old rooms are gone. Anna is missing. Everyone’s missing and it can never go back to how it was before and Castiel hates the sour turning in his stomach he’d felt as he watched Balthazar show him around. Even if it was only a small, still nearly bare room, it was a place that Bal had claimed as his own in this camp. He always was one to find a way to easily fit-in, no matter where he went. Balthazar was just mendable that way.

Castiel isn’t. It’d taken him years to settle in at the boarding school when his family had first moved to the new country. Even being as young as he was, he’d had a hard time making friends, getting comfortable in the new area, relaxing enough that he could finally start calling the school his home.

Now, so many years later, it was all gone. He couldn’t just put it all behind him and move on. There was an entire childhood full of memories resting in the burnt embers of that school. The school that had eventually become their camp. It’d been their small bubble of normalcy and safety tucked away underneath an entire country running rampant with chaos and death.

It’s only been a few weeks since it all went up in smoke and flames and every now and then he can still feel his head spinning with the realization that it actually happened. It’s all actually gone.

He’s almost jealous of the way Balthazar seems to have already moved on.

 

The beta had only lasted twenty minutes of the quiet one-sided conversation in his silent bedroom before he’d muttered something about ‘missing technology and mindless entertainment’ and decided to pull them both out and down a hall. Now they were apparently on their way to the kitchen, because Balthazar had been scheduled to help make lunch today before he’d been reunited with Cas.

_“We want them to be okay with you coming back, right? This is the easiest way to fit in around here. ‘The hearts connected to the stomach’ and all that. ”_ He’d said. Cas had just made a noncommittal noise and allowed himself to be tugged along.

He already knew that his friend was banking on him coming back after the trip, despite his many objections. Instead of fighting him, he resigned himself to silence on the matter. For now. It would be dealt with when the time came, whether his friend wanted it to or not.

 

“Does your arm hurt?” Balthazar continues after a long minute, refusing to let the conversation be staved for long.

“Not particularly.”

“Can’t believe that bastard shot you.” Balthazar had at least been able to interrogate that out of him in their time alone.

“You would have done the same if you’d been in his position.”

“Doubt it. There must’ve been some other way to deal with it. He’s a bit too trigger-happy, that one, if you ask me.” Balthazar seems to hold the same level of minute disdain for Dean as the alpha did for him.

Castiel doesn’t reply. He wouldn’t know. Dean seems like a pleasant enough person when he wants to be, but he does appear to have a tendency towards anger. Castiel tries not to remember how hostile Dean had been towards him that first night. How he’d been so sure that Dean was only milliseconds away from putting a bullet through his head. That part he had purposefully refrained from informing Balthazar of. The less conflict he built for his friend here, the better.

Dean asking him to return after making the trip to his camp had taken him by surprise though. He’d had a feeling that that question was coming, but he honestly had expected Balthazar or…even Sam, to be the one to bring it up.

Dean’s change in attitude towards him over the previous few days had been…almost abrupt when it came down to it. In the privacy of Dean’s room, when there weren’t any peripheral eyes to observe them, Dean had acted as if he almost… actually cared about what happened to Castiel after he left the walls of this camp. That bothered him more then he’d like to admit.

In these times, people only cared for those who were actively a part of their own camp. The rule of thumb seemed to be that when someone left a group… they were gone. There was no fretting over what would happen in the future, there wasn’t enough room to care. That was just the way the world worked now. Out of sight, out of mind.

As they’re rounding a corner to the next hallway, Castiel’s ripped from his thoughts when someone passing in the opposite direction roughly knocks shoulders with him, directly into his injured arm.

_“Shit.”_ The rare expletive jumps from his mouth as he hunches over and grabs at his arm, hissing.

“Hey! Watch it, would you?! Shit, Castiel are you okay?” Bal steadies him with a concerned look. Castiel just nods dumbly, gritting his teeth. He looks up to see who it was. And is a little taken aback when he sees Gordon standing there, back straight and jaw clenched.

“Oops. Didn’t see you there.” The words are clipped and heavily laced with sarcasm. There’s a proudness to his stance and the meanings clear; he’d wholeheartedly intended to shove into Castiel. Gordon’s eyes are trained on him like he’s a stain that’s insulted him by marring his floor.

“Like hell you didn’t. What’s your problem?” Bal asks incredulously.

Gordon ignores him. But he does take a step forward towards the pair and Castiel straightens himself up, ignoring the dull throbbing still pulling in his arm. A long silent second passes as they watch each other.

“What are you still doing here?” Gordon simply asks, getting straight to the point. His head is tilted the slightest like he’s waiting for an answer, but instead he keeps talking as he takes another casual step forward. “Azazel and them are back. So why the fuck aren’t you gone?”

Much to Castiel’s dislike, Bal steps in front of him defensively. “Honestly, I don’t think that’s any of your damn business.” He quips right back with no hesitation, much to Castiel’s surprise.

Gordon’s gaze breaks as he glances at the beta in front of him, looking him up and down, sizing him up. It makes Castiel’s heart thump. He’s only been in the presence of the man for a matter of minutes before, but everything that he’s seen of him tells that he’s quick to violence. The absolute last thing he desires is for Balthazar to get into a confrontation, especially because of him, when his friend is still trying to carve out a new life for himself here.

Gordon looks back towards him, an angry scowl on his lips as he casually holds his heavily bandaged hand out in front of him. “I actually think it’s entirely my business.”

A reflexive apology almost works its way out of his throat, wanting to quell the confrontation much like he had with Jo, but he swallows it back down. The way Gordon’s looking at him, he has no interest in reconciling their differences.

Castiel lightly puts a hand on Balthazar’s shoulder to help put him at ease and he sidesteps away so Balthazar isn’t in danger of taking the brunt of any of Gordon’s anger. “There’s no reason to worry. I’ll be leaving soon.”

Gordon tilts his head the other way, appraising him with that irritated scowl. “That so?” He takes another step forward, now only a foot of space separating him from the pair and it has Castiel glancing out of the corner of his eye, trying to see if anyone else is in the hallways. As far as he can tell, they’re empty, but he can hear the low muttering of chatter coming from another hallway down. “Because, you see,” Gordon looks down, inspecting his shoe. His voice lowers a notch. “I’ve been seeing you all over the place. Eating in the dining room, strolling around as if you belong here. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were settling yourself in.”

Castiel can feel Balthazar tense under his hand. “And so what if he is?” Balthazar grinds out, voice low. A lump rises in Castiel’s throat. He wishes that Balthazar wasn’t here for this. He’d honestly completely forgotten about Gordon. Of course it would have been too much to hope for to leave before another confrontation happened.

Gordon’s eyes narrow at him. His lip curls up in disgust as he looks Castiel over again. “He’d better not be. You don’t belong here. And you never will. I’ll make sure of that.” He holds his hand up again, as if him having an injury should somehow make him look more threatening. In a way, it kind of does. “One way or another, you’ll be leaving here soon. And I mean _soon,_ got it?” He tilts his head, and this time, he really is waiting for an answer.

“Oh you cliché bastard.” Balthazar huffs out in an angry rumble, but this time Gordon doesn’t acknowledge him, eye’s trained on Castiel’s. Castiel’s fingers are starting to hurt from where he’s digging them into Balthazar’s shoulder. He can feel how tense his friend is, how much effort he’s putting into holding himself back. He’s practically vibrating underneath Castiel’s hand. Gordon’s not backing off and Castiel doesn’t know what to do. He is leaving soon, but everything in him wants to defy Gordon’s threat. Wants to push Gordon back and tell him to fuck off.

“Mmm, do I smell a problem over here?” A sly rumble breaks the silent tension and all three whip their heads over to see the same tall brunette that had called for Sam the night before leaning leisurely against the wall a little ways down the far hallway, head tilted curiously. How on earth had she managed to sneak up on them?

“Mind your own business, Ruby.” Gordon quips out, short and even.

“I think you should take your own advice.” Balthazar speaks up. Instantly, Gordon’s attention is back on them, but somehow his presence isn’t nearly as intimidating with another’s company present.

Ruby pushes herself away from the wall with a huff. “Sorry boys, but I seem to have forgotten my measuring tape today.” She rounds behind them and actually winks at Castiel with an amused smile as she passes by them. He frowns at the attention. Even people he’s never held a conversation with before are acting like he’s got some inside story with them.

“I’ve been sent to fetch you.” Ruby sounds completely bored by this as she motions for Gordon to follow her as she walks on by, not waiting to see if her request is followed. “They want your input in the maps room.”

She doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t try to inquire into the situation further, she just walks down the hall, leaving the three to stand there on their own again. But the peak of tension has been broken. Gordon stays glaring at them for a few seconds, just long enough for Castiel to begin to worry again, before he huffs through his nose, shoulder’s still pulled tight, and turns to trail after her without another word.

 

Castiel instantly feels his muscles begin to relax and he lets out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as he watches them walk away. As they round the far corner, Castiel catches Ruby glancing back at him. He can’t categorize the look she gives him, somewhere between entertained and contemplative, but he finds that he doesn’t really care. He’s just grateful that she stepped in when she did and in the matter of seconds, managed to diffuse a situation that could have turned very ugly, fairly quickly.

 

Balthazar pulls his attention away from the retreating betas by stepping away from his side and heaving a worn sigh. He rubs at his closed eyelids for a moment before he glances at Castiel over his knuckles.

Castiel blinks, a little surprised to see Balthazar giving _him_ an annoyed glare.

“I’m going to go ahead and assume that you did that to that bastard’s hand?”

 

Oh. Castiel half shrugs and looks away. “I may or may not have stabbed a knife through his palm.”

Balthazar blanches and Castiel just turns to continue walking down the way they’d been heading before they were so brashly interrupted. Balthazar breaks out of it and jogs up to his side.

“You know, you really need to work on your introductions.” Castiel doesn’t respond. But he can feel a tug of relief at Balthazar’s speedy attempt at returning to his normal flippant tone. “Is there anyone here that you didn’t manage to piss off on your first day?”

Castiel shakes his head, a small tilt to his lips. “No, Bal, I don’t think there is.”

Balthazar scoffs. “Of course there isn’t. You know this is why you had such a hard time making friends in school. You’re ridiculous.” He tries to make a show of teasing Castiel, but he can still make out the barely-hidden concern in Balthazar’s features. Maybe now Balthazar is finally starting to understand why him staying here would be more easily said than done.

“At least try to play nice with the other kids today.” Bal murmurs before they make one last turn and he’s pulled into the camp’s kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part will be up tomorrow or the day after.


	10. Afternoon

The kitchen is both smaller and larger then what he had imagined. 

It’s about the same size as a small home-owned restaurant’s, with grills and silver metal counters and sinks and the works. There’s even a fryer in one corner. But the majority of the fancier equipment seems to go unused. 

There’s a large empty space attached to the far side of the kitchen, where maybe extra cutting counters and such may have once belonged, but now it’s just filled with crates and boxes of various foods and cans. The fryer is unplugged and boxes are stacked high on top, nearly burying it. 

Two strangers are working around pots and pans by the grills. Jo and two others that Castiel has never met before are at work in the empty space, pulling stalk after stalk of corn out of crates and peeling their coverings off, throwing the extra peelings into a garbage bin set in the middle of the room.

They welcome him easily enough into the room with Jo’s acceptance and Balthazar’s encouragement, though he does get eyed up constantly for the better part of ten minutes. He stands off to the side awkwardly at first, listening to the sounds of boiling water and mindless chatter that comes from both the people working in the kitchen and those constantly passing by the open doorway. 

That only manages to work for a few minutes before Balthazar seems to catch on to his reluctance to participate in this unwarranted attempt at socializing. Before he can argue against it, Balthazar has pulled him forward and stuck him right in between Jo and some boy, leaving him there to help work with the corn. He reluctantly smiles at the others standing around the bin but makes no other move to interact with them. Jo simply nods and continues on, apparently not in the mood for small talk. He doesn’t know if he’s more grateful or dismayed for it. 

He feels awkward. Out of place. He almost wishes that he hadn’t marched out of Dean’s room this morning. Maybe then Balthazar wouldn’t be putting so much effort into a lost cause. Maybe then Castiel would just be following one of the Winchesters around on their daily routine like he had the previous few days. He’d much rather be doing that right now. He sighs and starts to peel.

 

What ends up surprising Castiel the most about the kitchen, is that is seems to be as much of a place of social interaction as the dining room, or the main hallways during midday. Several people poke their heads in through the door or meander in and out, whether or not they seem to actually have an initial purpose. They all stop and chat, casually picking up or dropping things off as they go and Castiel’s a little surprised when not even twenty minutes after entering the kitchen, the amount of people has nearly quadrupled. 

 

He tries to keep to himself; head bowed down and eyes trained on his handiwork, especially when he can hear intermixed in with all of the casual chatter, …odd little whispers. Out of the corner of his eye he spots someone trying to discreetly point at him. He lifts his head and glares at them and the two people are quick to turn away, feigning ignorance. 

Why is he even here?

He looks around with a sigh; ready to throw in the towel and call it quits. A sliver of unease runs down his spine when he suddenly realizes that Balthazar is nowhere in sight. He’s just …gone, disappeared without a trace. And the kitchen is still growing increasingly crowded. 

Swallowing down the feeling of desertion he can feel pooling in his gut, he turns and presses his back to the trashcan. This way he can keep a wary eye out on the room as he tries not to focus on the hum drum of conversation and kitchen appliances as they continue to grow louder and louder. 

Surely half an hour of this is more then enough to satisfy whatever point Balthazar had thought he’d been making? Especially if Bal, for some unfathomable reason, had thought it would be okay to just up and leave him behind like this?

 

A blender shrieks to life in the far corner and the conversations rise to be heard over it. He grasps a half-shucked piece of corn tightly between his hands and contemplates how hard it would be to cross the room and exit out the door without drawing too much attention. The blender cuts out but the volume of the room doesn’t seem to decrease. 

“Hey.” An elbow nudges his side and he doesn’t even have enough time to be embarrassed by his reflexive jump before a hand is thrust out before him; directly into his personal space. “You’re Castiel, right?”

He’s met with a blonde man, the same one who he’d been placed next to when he’d first entered the kitchen. He looks to probably be in his late twenties, with a broad yet nervous looking smile. Castiel nods slowly.

“Name’s Chad.” The hand’s still held out towards him. It takes him a second too long to react and Chad’s smile droops a little. 

Castiel’s thought’s catch up to him and he’s quick to reach out and shake his hand. “Um, yes. Hello. My name is Castiel.” Chad’s eyebrow twitches and his smile becomes a tad more strained. Oh wait. He’d already said Castiel’s name. “I mean-”

“Yeah.” Chad nods. Castiel can feel an uncomfortable flash of embarrassment roll over his face. “I uh, saw you when they first brought you in. Well, obviously you wouldn’t remember me, because you were…but I…” Chad mumbles and runs a hand awkwardly through his hair. “I brought you a pillow.” He suddenly states a little louder, like that would somehow save this horrible start to a conversation.

Castiel’s lost. He has no idea what… then he remembers the bed he’d first woken up on. How it had been covered in various small blankets and pillows that had simply reeked of alpha. His nose starts to scrunch up at the thought before he can help himself. “Oh.” Is all he can think of to say because that had not been a pleasant experience. On reflex he tries to catch a whiff of the other’s scent and, oh, yes, Chad is definitely an alpha. His scent’s not as strong as, say, Sam’s or Dean’s, but it’s definitely there. It has a bit of a dull underlying tang to it, which is confusing enough to Castiel because those aren’t words to describe a smell, but they work. He’s still not entirely used to this whole scent thing. 

Now it’s Chad’s turn to look uncomfortably embarrassed and Castiel’s quick to try and school his face into one more pleasant than the mild grimace he’d had. Now he feels bad. So much for manners. He looks to his other side, hoping against hope that maybe Jo will save him, but to his absolute chagrin, she’s gone. 

In her place though, wearing a devilish and expectant grin, stands Meg. 

“Hey there, birdy.” She chimes.

He stills for one long second before quickly turning with wide desperate eyes back to Chad, wanting to backtrack to that disaster of a conversation, but Chad’s already taken a far step away, eyes on the ground with a slump to his shoulders. 

Castiel’s mouth opens but his voice seems to get stuck in the back of his throat. He doesn’t know what to say to him. Instead, he tries to quell his anxiety as he scans across the crowded kitchen again, searching for any sign of a friendly face. Where the hell is Balthazar? 

“You’re not about to run away on me now, are you?” Meg leans over and gently bumps shoulders with him, like they were somehow old friends. “That’d just be rude. I haven’t gotten to talk to you since your grand escape. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” 

Castiel nearly swallows, but he stops himself. He’s stuck in this awkward state of staring straight forward, shoulders taunt, and face blank, fingers digging into the corn still clenched in his hands. Maybe if he pretends that he can’t hear her for long enough, she’ll wander away. Instead, she swings around so that she’s standing in front of him and, to his bewilderment, she presses her index finger to the middle of his sternum and drags it up his chest before tapping it roughly, just once. He blinks with the tap and opens his mouth in astonishment. 

“What’s the matter, birdy? Cat got your tongue?” Her smirk only widens when he steps back with a glare, only to bump into the trashcan behind him. It almost tips over, several people shout in warning and he rushes to grab it before corn stalks can litter the floor.

When he rights himself she’s still right there and now when he glances around Castiel can see that at least half the room is stealing glances towards him none-too-casually. “Don’t call me that.” He hisses quietly. 

“Call you what?” She feigns innocence. 

He doesn’t want to rise to her bait. She obviously gets pleasure from this and he doesn’t understand why she won’t just leave him alone. He’s clearly not wanting to continue the conversation. He takes a deep breath to calm down and evenly replies, “My name is Castiel.” As if he hadn’t already had this conversation with her before. 

“Oh! Castiel! Yes, I think I might remember that name being thrown around.” She tilts her head and purses her lips, as if thinking. “Now that I think about it, that’s all I’ve been hearing for the past few days. _Castiel,_ this. _Castiel,_ that.” She finally drops the innocent look and smirks at him again. “Buddy boy, you’ve been the talk of the town.” 

He doesn’t even mean to respond, but the words are out before he can stop them. “…I have?” His eyebrows draw together in confusion and discomfort. He really has been trying to keep to himself. He just wanted to keep a low profile until they would let him leave, despite how hard that might be after his initial day here. Gordon’s warning from earlier comes back to him, about how he’d been watching him. Castiel hadn’t even noticed. How many others here had been keeping tabs on him? And why? Why does this camp have to be so complicated? He can barely keep up with every new face and every turn of events that come with them and he has no desire to try to.

Meg chuckles and rests a hand gently on his collar. He doesn’t understand what she’s doing until she pulls him forward quickly enough that he almost looses his footing again, just so that she can lean up and purr in his ear, “The kitchen _never_ gets this full.” She releases him as soon as her breath rolls across the shell of his ear and he reels back, cheeks heating. She’s so forward with her actions and words that he doesn’t know how to respond to her. After a few bewildered seconds her words take hold in his head and his eyes widen. He takes a paranoid glance around the crowded room and he catches more then a few pairs of eyes. He looks back down to Meg’s simmering ones, his face feeling even warmer. 

He’s not really the reason the kitchen is so crowded, is he? That’s absurd. Why? Why would they even-? 

Meg rolls her lips inwards, like she’s trying not to laugh. She leans in close again. “You look like you’ve just been thrown to the wolves.” 

“Why are you always making animal references?!” He snaps, hissing. 

She’s not affected in the least, just raises an eyebrow. “Why do they make you so uncomfortable?” 

He can feel his ire rising, as well as his discomfort and anxiety. This was a bad idea. Why did Balthazar ever think this would be a good idea? Better yet, why would Bal bring him here just to leave him on his own?

Suddenly the crowded room is just _too_ crowded. Meg is right, this should not be a normal amount of people, especially in a kitchen. The kitchen’s too warm for this many bodies, too small. The intermixing smells of beta and alpha are drowning out any trace of the comforting smell of food and he can feel a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. 

His pulse kicks up a notch and this time he does swallow, trying to get his heartbeat to calm but Meg won’t stop her knowing, uncomfortable stare down. Someone softly bumps into his good shoulder as they try to get around him but he can’t move away because Meg is blocking his other side and there are just so many people in here. His next breath comes a little short and he clenches his eyes closed, trying to force a lungful of air through his nose at a measured pace but it doesn’t help. Meg’s too close. Everyone’s too close. _Something_ is too close. 

 

Suddenly there’s a warm hand on the area between his shoulder blades, softly pushing him forward. His eyes snap open. He’s being gently ushered towards the too tight crowd of people, but it’s also towards the door, so he doesn’t fight it. He feels the disfigured stalk of corn slip from his fingers and roll away across the floor. His vision narrows onto the exit and he pushes past a suddenly angry looking Meg and sets his sights on making his way through the path of least-resistance, not caring whose pushed him into motion.

It takes a few rasped apologies and shoulder-bumps, and an uncomfortable amount of cautious stares, but eventually he tumbles out into the hallway. Immediately, the air is cooler, cleaner, and he relishes the way that it washes away the odd burn in his lungs.

He crosses to the opposite wall and places his forehead on the cool tile, trying to even out his breathing. He had _not_ been panicking. He… was just…taken by surprise, that’s all. He takes a deep breath, holds it in his chest for a moment, before slowing exhaling, finally feeling his heart rate fall back to a normal pace. The pounding that had started in the back of his head gradually dissipates and he slowly opens his eyes. He turns his head to see who had decided to help him out, and is …surprisingly disappointed to see Alastair standing beside him, eyes trailing over his face.

“You okay?” Alastair looks concerned. And…amused. Castiel’s not sure how he manages to do that. 

He nods in two short jerks. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

Alastair crosses his arms, leans a shoulder on the wall next to him. “I’m not sure if you could exactly call that ‘fine’.” He motions his head towards the kitchen. Castiel looks over his shoulder to see several people watching him from the doorway. 

He frowns and quickly pushes away from the wall, shoulders straightening. Balthazar’s still nowhere in sight, nor is any other friendly face and there’s no hesitation in his decision to turn and walk away. At this point, he couldn’t care less where he is and is not allowed to go. Alastair casually follows after him. Oh joy.

He just cannot catch a break today. 

He wonders if Dean has had his chance to talk to whom he needs to. The anxiety from the kitchen hasn’t entirely left and is quickly morphing into the familiar one of wanting to leave. There’s a knot in his stomach and he’s not sure where to go as he once again walks through the hallways. A small paranoid voice in the back of his head is screaming for him to find that doorway that leads up to the outside and just _run for it._ But it’s irrational. It’s the middle of the day and he’s seen what the set-up is like up there. He’d never make it past the fence. 

“Where are you going?” Alastair drawls behind him, sounding bored and curious at the same time. 

Castiel doesn’t reply at first. He has no idea. He didn’t need Gordon’s threat earlier to remind him that he has no place here. He doesn’t want to go back to the ‘holding room’. There’s no way he’s going back to the kitchen. Balthazar’s his only true friend here and at the moment he kind of wants to punch him in the face. He knows what he needs to do. He needs to get to his camp. It’s a _need_ and it won’t stop making his chest ache until he finally gets there and makes sure that Anna didn’t leave any clues for him behind. 

“I need to find Dean.” The words are out of his mouth before he’s even thought them through but he finds that they fit right. So far, Dean’s his best ticket out of here and the only person to even act with an inkling of true understanding for his situation. 

_“Why?”_ Alastair sounds surprisingly annoyed. 

Cas looks back at him from over his shoulder and furrows his eyebrows. “I…I just need to.” He’s suddenly reminded of the last time he’d spoken with Alastair and is quick to decide that he has no interest in confiding with him. 

He has no doubt that news spreads quickly around here and he has a strong feeling that Alastair has already fully heard about his situation with Balthazar and their non-existent camp. It aggravates him that Alastair’s notions from the morning before were proven right. Why Alastair had been so intent on finding out in the first place is still a mystery and he’s not sure it’s one that he wants to be solved. 

Alastair quickens his step so that he’s beside Castiel instead of trailing right behind. “Whatever you need from Dean-o, I’m sure I could help you with.” For a split second, he swears he can hear an underlying message in those words, but before he can begin to think on it, Alastair softly grabs right below his good elbow to stop him from walking and stands in front of him, blocking his path. 

Castiel’s lips press into a firm line and he tries to pull his arm away, but the other’s grip, while gentle, is unrelenting. Alastair leans forward and Castiel can feel an eye muscle twitch. He’s had far too much to deal with today. 

“Seriously, what is it that you think you need Winchester for?” Alastair says, searching Castiel’s face. “I’m starting to think that you believe he holds more authority here then he actually does.” Castiel doesn’t say anything, just pointedly glares at their point of contact. Alastair tilts his head to the side, seemingly oblivious. “Granted, he does seem to forget that himself a majority of the time.” 

Castiel closes his eyes for a long second as he feels that soft pounding start up again in the back of his head. Nothing will ever top how horrendous the Croatoan virus is, or how miserable and viscous life is running out amongst it. But dealing with this unrelenting cascade of confrontation and drama is quickly becoming a close second nightmare to it. When he speaks, his voice is calm and even. “I just need to discuss something with him. It’s private.” 

Alastair stares at him with a frown. Accusation sits behind his eyes when he suddenly pulls back a little. “This is about you leaving, isn’t it?” He doesn’t reward him with a reply, just waits patiently for the other to let go. Alastair shakes his head. “It is, isn’t it? Why is this still an issue? The cat’s out of the bag, Castiel. You have no where to go.” 

Castiel yanks on his arm again but Alistair holds tighter, getting dragged forward with the motion. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Castiel growls.

Alastair lowers his voice. “Then tell me.”

“It. Is. Private.” 

“That’s bullshit.” The grip is seriously starting to hurt his arm. “I heard about your camp. As soon as the Winchesters went running to Ellen this morning, half the people here knew. You have nowhere to go and no one to turn to. So why are you leaving?” Alistair murmurs lowly, “You should stay here, where it’s safe.”

He shakes his head in baffled wonderment. “We’ve already talked about this. I thought I told you to leave it alone. It is not of your concern.”

Alastair’s jaw clenches before he gives him this look, like Castiel was a rebellious teenager on his last straw with an annoyed authority figure. “You wouldn’t survive a week without us.” His voice is quiet and clear, each word enunciated like the problem here was Castiel’s lack of understanding. 

Castiel uses the hand of his injured arm to grab at Alastair’s wrist. The motion hurts and his shoulder aches. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

They stand there for a long moment in a silent face off. Every second that passes is one where Castiel can feel his blood heating. Alastair seems to be calculating something in his head as he rakes his eyes over him before his face smooth’s from one that’s challenging to one more open. He slowly releases his tight grip on him as he says, “I’m only trying to look out for your best interests. You have to face the facts. You need us.”

“I don’t-”

“You do. And if you would just accept that, I could…” He trails off, waiting for a small group of people who started to cross by the far end of the hall to finish passing. Only Castiel looks over his shoulder and spots a familiar face. 

“Dean!” 

 

The alpha pauses and looks more then surprised to see Castiel there. Alastair tries to stop him when he quickly pushes past, but he throws such a venomous glare over his shoulder that Alastair pulls back, shutting up. 

 

“Cas? What are you doing here?” Why aren’t you with…?” He trails off, looking between him and Alastair as Castiel finishes jogging forward. 

The people he’d been walking with slow and stop too. Castiel recognizes a few but he ignores them in favor of turning to Dean and saying with a hint of urgency, “It doesn’t matter. Can we talk?” 

Dean watches Alastair from down the hall for a second before murmuring a distracted “Yeah, sure…”

 

“Dean?” A young man with a mullet questions and Dean waves him off.

“Go ahead, Ash. I’ll catch up with you later.” Castiel edges the opposite way, wanting to get out of Alastair’s line of sight as soon as possible. He can feel the other’s eyes on his back and it’s making him uncomfortable. Dean finally seems to snap out of it. “Yeah, okay. C’mon…” Dean tilts his head and to Castiel’s great relief, they turn to walk the opposite way.


	11. Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goal for any future fics: Not be so goddamn wordy.

 

 

 

 

As soon as they’re alone Castiel feels a small bit of tension lift from his shoulders. He can breathe again. Despite what Alastair had said, Dean does seem to have this innate aura of likeable authority about him, and he doubts that he’ll have to deal with nearly as many intrusive people if he’s with him. Then again, Castiel seems to be cursed, doomed to deal with confrontation at every turn today. He sighs and lets his head roll back onto his shoulders, closing his eyes. 

 

“Am I going to regret it if I ask if you’re okay?” Dean finally speaks up after a few minutes of relieving silence. 

“Why would you regret asking?” Cas doesn’t open his eyes. He’s soaking in the relative silence he’s finally found before his luck runs out again. 

“You look like you’re ready to punch the next person who so much as looks at you.”

He peeks an eye open to sideways glance at him. Dean holds up his hands, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Have mercy.” 

Cas huffs and shakes his head. “I am fine, Dean. Just… tired. It’s been a very …very long day.”

“It’s barely even lunch time.” Dean raises an eyebrow. “What happened after you left?” 

Castiel licks his lips and shakes his head again. He glances down both hallways, making sure they weren’t about to be interrupted before he readies himself for one more confrontation. He stops walking and after a few steps Dean does too, looking wary.

“Have you had your chance to speak with… your ‘elders’ or whomever?” 

The wariness disappears and Dean perks up a bit. “Actually, yeah.” There’s a glint in his eye as he shifts on his feet, saying nothing more. He waits expectantly, but Dean only rocks onto the balls of his feet. 

Castiel frowns, impatient. _“Well?”_

Dean sighs. “Oh, you’re no fun.” He shrugs a shoulder but his smile stays. “They gave the thumbs up.” 

Cas has to blink for a second. “They said yes?” He feels his chest start to inflate with hope. Hope to leave. Hope to possibly see his sister. He tries to squash that last one down. He needs to have a clear mind, not be caught up in false optimism.

Dean shrugs half a shoulder again, thumbing his pockets. “Yeah, it wasn’t too hard to convince them to let us go. Like I said, we were half planning to hit a Gas station out that way anyways. As far as you coming back though, …well, Ellen said you could return, but we’d have to wait and see how you fit in around here before they decide to let you stay for the long run. I think you smoothing things over with her helped things a lot but she’s still worried about the rest of the camp.”

Castiel just nods, not particularly caring about the last part. If the trip went well, he wouldn’t be returning. And after the morning he’s had, he’s not too sure he’d want to anyways. “So, when are we leaving?”

Dean sighs but moves on. “They’re packing up a jeep now. We’ll leave at dawn.” Castiel’s brows furrow but Dean holds a hand up, stopping his interruption. “Before you give me any shit, it’s already midday. So we’re leaving one day later, it’s not a big deal. If we head out in the morning, we’ll have an entire day to get everything done. We won’t be rushing around all over the place. You want your time to look around your camp, right?”

Cas’ fist clenches, but after a moment he nods. 

“Okay then.” Dean gives him a comforting smile. “I told you I’d bring you back, Cas. So that’s what we’re going to do. Stop getting so stressed over it.” 

He wants to be annoyed at him for saying that. Dean has no right telling him that, especially considering that now they’re two days behind schedule, but he finds that he’s not mad. Just exhausted… and relieved. Just a few more hours and he’ll be away from this camp and all of its pushy inhabitants. “I know.” He exhales. “But it is impossible not to.” 

“Yeah…” Dean shifts, decides to change the subject. “Have you eaten? I had a snack while I was talking with the others, but if you want we can-”

“No.” Cas shakes his head. “I’m not hungry. Can we…can we just go somewhere quiet for a while. Like we did this morning?” 

Dean watches him for a long second, no doubt taking stock of the stress lines and shallow crows feet he’s recently developed. He’s too young for crow’s feet. 

“Yeah.” He says. “The rooms are kind of the only places you can go for quiet around here. You want to go back to mine?” 

He thinks. Nods. “That would be preferable then, yes.” 

Dean smiles. “Okay then.”

 

 

When they get to his room, Dean begins the process of clearing off his dresser again. He doesn’t know why he even bothered putting everything back. He pauses though when Castiel speaks up behind him. 

“It’s alright, Dean.” He turns to see Castiel standing by his bed, eyeing the corner of it with wariness. 

“…Are you sure? It’s not that-”

“No, it’s quite alright. Thank you though.” But he stays standing there, like he’s readying himself to take a daunting leap. Dean just leans back against his dresser and crosses his arms, watching him. 

A few more seconds go by before Castiel takes a deep breath, promptly turns around, and sits just barely on the edge. He looks up and their gazes catch.

Dean slowly raises an amused eyebrow. “I thought the beds were too unbearable for your poor delicate nose?”

Cas scowls. “My nose isn’t _delicate._ I don’t understand how none of you smell how …repugnant that room is.”

“The holding room? It can’t really be that bad.”

“It is! And it’s concentrated on that bed. It smells like…” His eyes drift off as he searches for words. “It smells like your entire camp took turns hibernating in it. The mattress is simply permeated with scents. It’s foul.”

Dean chuckles. “Okay, okay, I get it. A lot of different people have stayed there. But we change the sheets, I swear.” 

“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s still putrid.” 

Dean snorts. “So what? Mines suddenly not?” 

Castiel tilts his head as he looks around and assesses the room. “I thought it would be. But your room is more bearable. There are less smells trying to compete with one another here. It’s just…” 

He trails off, and now Dean tilts his head. “It’s just what, Cas?”

Castiel shrugs a shoulder. Says quietly, “It’s just you. The smell, that is.” 

Dean pushes off the dresser and sits down near the head of his bed, leaving several feet of space between the two. He leans back against the wall and folds an arm under his head. “So, uh, this might be awkward to ask again… but.” 

Castiel’s eyes fall back to him questioningly. “But?”

Dean decides to just go for it. “What do I smell like? It’s okay if it’s too weird to answer. It’s just…I’m curious.”

Cas’ mouth opens as he stares at him. Then he closes it. Dean spots that familiar look; the one that says Cas is pre-thinking his next words out very carefully; judging which ones would be appropriate and which wouldn’t. After a good thirty seconds pass, Dean huffs. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

“No, I…” Cas licks his lips. “It’s not ‘too weird’. I’m just not too sure how to put it into words. The way things smell now… “

Dean slowly nods. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean. Like, you’re smelling things that shouldn’t have a scent in the first place, right?”

Castiel looks a little relieved that Dean can relate. He glances down at his fingers. His good hand traces up the edge of his arm sling, which has been pushed back so that it only cradles his elbow, instead of his entire arm. Dean’s noticed that he seems to be using his injured hand a bit more today, which is good. That probably means that he’s healing fast. Dean can admit now that he would have felt terrible if he’d caused Cas to lose the arm. Or worse. 

“Your room…” Cas starts quietly, “You…smell like control.” Dean’s eyebrow’s furrow into bewildered confusion. Okay, so that was definitely not what he was expecting, but when Cas tilts his head like he himself is confused by the answer he waits for Cas to continue. “But it is not of a confining one, more like…an erratic, calming type of control. Perhaps it is more of…consistency? Or… ” Castiel’s mouth snaps shut. He should of thought on it more before trying to explain it out loud. He nearly said that Dean’s scent was… comforting. 

Cas glances over to him, but when their eyes meet, Cas is quick to look back down. Dean exhales out of his nose. “Yeah, you’re right, Cas. That makes no sense at all.”

The corner of Cas’ mouth lifts. He nods. “I know. You… also smell like the woods. But not like pine needle or oak really, or any of the trees. Just…the woods. It’s very earthy. I can’t figure out if it reminds me of autumn or spring.” Cas huffs. “And Leather.” 

Dean smirks ruefully. “Leather?”

“Yes. Warm leather.” Cas chuckles. “I told you, I’m not very good at making sense of it. But that’s what you smell like. To me. More or less.” 

“Huh.”

At his comment, Cas looks at him from the corner of his eye. Dean looks like he’s trying very hard to keep his facial expression neutral. 

_“What?”_

“Nothing.” Dean shrugs, but the amount of effort he puts into the overly casual move looks nearly painful. 

Cas looks down at his feet with a scowl and crosses his arms the best he can. “If all you’re going to do is tease me then-“

“Did I say a _single_ teasing word?” 

Cas huffs. “I can see you-“

“Hey!” Dean leans forward quickly, elbows resting on his knees, but Cas refuses to look back over to him. “I’m not teasing you _at all,_ okay?! Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t exactly expecting you to start preaching poetry, but- I’m… I’m not complaining, okay?” Dean’s stuck somewhere between sounding assuring and flustered and his face feels a little too hot. “I uh, well… yeah thanks.” Use your big-boy words, Winchester. “Thank you for telling me, Cas. That was… interesting.” 

 

Dean swallows and a silent moment goes by. Eventually Cas does slowly look over towards him, and this time when their eyes meet he doesn’t glance back away. Castiel’s cheeks start to turn the barest shade darker then what they’d been before when he almost shyly asks, “And I, Dean? What do I smell like to you?”

 

Dean’s jaw drops a little, caught off guard. He scratches at the inside of his elbow as he makes an aborted attempt at a chuckle that dies off in an awkward cough. He shakes his head. “I honestly couldn’t even begin to try to tell you, Cas.” 

 

Cas starts to pout, unhappy with his answer. Dean clears his throat and jumps off the bed. “You play cards, Cas?” He goes to his dresser and starts rifling through his sock drawer. 

“You’re digressing, Dean.” 

Dean rolls his eyes even though Cas can’t see him. No shit. He turns and shakes the found pack of cards in hand, ignoring his comment. “What’s your game, Cas? Blackjack? Rummy?” 

 

Castiel glares at him. Dean shakes the pack again with a little too much emphasis. Cas finally huffs, shoulders sagging in defeat. “I’ve only ever played goldfish.”

Dean snorts. “No, really.” 

“…Really.”

Dean pauses and after a second, starts to dawn a look of realization. “Shit, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I’m not one to fool around, Dean.”

He says under his breath; “Yeah, believe it or not, I’ve noticed.” 

 

 

The next few hours pass by in a surprisingly pleasant blur. Castiel can feel his chest begin to unwind from its tight coil of anxiety with every lazy shuffle of cards. There are no interruptions, no immediate concerns, and best of all, no more additional drama. Dean avoids bringing up their conversation from earlier, which irked Castiel at first, but he quickly decided to just let it go and immerse himself in Dean’s avid card games rather than linger on yet another troubling subject.

Dean also seems to have caught onto Castiel’s relief after his haphazardous morning, and while he can see the curiosity brewing behind those bright green eyes, he continues to keep the conversation light and mostly focused on the separate ways to play each game.

 

More than once, Cas accuses him of making up rules, which, of course, leads to Dean actually throwing in some ridiculously over-the-top fake ones. 

“I’m fairly sure that pulling a six does _not_ mean I have to show you my hand, Dean.”

“Yes, it totally does! And if you lay down a set of Jack’s, you have to name at least three presidents who wore facial hair. Triple points if any of them had mutton chops.” 

 

The time passes easily. Every now and then they trail off to talk about unrelated topics, but it always returns to them making lighthearted comments and jabs at the other, Dean teasing and Cas half-heartedly scowling.

Cas would have been worried that the idle chitchat and bouts of comfortable silence would leave him too much time to stress over the days ventures or tomorrow’s impending trip, but instead he finds that it truly is a reprieve to just sit there and let his mind focus on the cards in his hand. 

He’s just about to finish demolishing Dean for his third time in a row at Rummy, when his stomach growls loud enough to interrupt Dean half-way through accusing Castiel of cheating. 

Dean gives him a look and Castiel tries to hide a reflexive flush. 

“You hungry, Cas?” Dean asks, knowingly. Castiel hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and that had been interrupted half-way through as it is. 

He eyes the doorway warily and shakes his head. “Not yet.” He places four Ace’s down on the bed and a two in the discard pile, hands now empty. “I believe that puts me at 516 points, Dean. I win.” 

Dean’s eyebrow twitches, and he refrains from commenting once again on how weird it is that Cas can do the math in his head. He shakes his head. “Whatever man. It’s not a real win if you’re counting cards.” 

“I wasn’t that time. We were playing Rummy. Can you count cards in Rummy? Even if I was, I don’t see how that could possibly invalidate my victory.” His stomach growls again, and Cas’ smirk lessons. 

Dean stares at him for a second before groaning. “You are so freakin’ stubborn.” He rolls off the bed and starts digging through his belongings underneath. Castiel leans over to watch him curiously. 

“What are you doing?” 

Dean glances up at him and smirks. “I’ve got something, but I’m not really supposed to have it.” 

Cas’ head tilts, interest piqued. “Something?” 

“Yeah, but you have to keep it a secret. It’s top priority. Can you do that, Cas?” 

Cas’ eyes widen. He doesn’t understand why Dean would suddenly trust him with something so important, but he nods nonetheless. “Yes, Dean.”

Dean stifles a chuckle at his grave, serious expression and pulls a small cardboard box towards him. He reaches in, and pulls out a wrapped chocolate protein bar. “Good, ‘cuz if you told anybody, I’d probably have to kill you.” He waves the bar around and then out-right laughs as Cas’ shoulders slump and his eyes flash towards the ceiling, completely exasperated with him. 

Castiel glares when he continues to laugh to the point where he’s wheezing. 

“You were so serious!” 

Cas huffs and snatches the bar out of the alpha’s hand. “You’re not funny, Dean.”

Dean exaggeratedly wipes a nonexistent tear away, grinning. “Oh, please. I’m hilarious and you know it.” 

“That’s debatable.” 

“So there’s a chance that you agree with me.” 

Cas snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t understand why I ever thought you were intimidating. You’re a buffoon.” 

Dean leans forward and places a hand on Cas’ calf, an overly-sympathetic, sad look pulling at his features. “I understand if nobody’s ever taught you how lame the word ‘buffoon’ is, but it’s okay Cas, I’ll talk you through it. We will get you through this.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes and playfully kicks his foot to displace Dean’s hand. “You’re an idiot.”

Dean falls back, but catches himself with a derisive snort. “Yes, but an idiot who would never use the word buffoon.” 

“You’ve just used it twice.” He points out and doesn’t wait for Dean’s no-doubt snarky reply; instead he busies himself with ripping the packaging open. 

In truth, he is kind of starving, but not to the point where he’d want to face the rest of the camp again. The bar is no doubt stale, and the chocolate coating looks like it’s melted and re-hardened a few times, but his mouth still waters looking at it. 

“I wasn’t lying, you know.” Dean leans back on his hands from his spot on the floor, and stretches his feet out until they lie underneath the bed.

“Hm?” Cas hums and then takes a bite. At the first taste of chocolaty richness melting over his tongue, he groans, eyes closing.

“I’m not supposed to have these. We’re supposed to turn in all food to the kitchen as soon as we find it.” Dean’s voice is quieter, and Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean watching him with a smile. 

Cas smiles back. “You should be ashamed, Dean Winchester.” But he takes another rather large bite, chewing with his cheeks puffed out. 

Dean shrugs a careless shoulder, grinning. “I probably would be, if I didn’t know for a fact that every single person here has there own secret stash.” 

Cas makes a sound, one that can barely be distinguished as a garbled _“Yeah?”_ As soon as it comes out Cas blanches and holds a self-conscious hand up to his mouth, like he’s afraid he’s going to be yelled at for talking around his mouthful. 

“Definitely.” Dean nods. “If I ever really need something from Jess, I just have to bribe her with a pack of Twizzlers. Which, by the way, are becoming increasingly hard to find. They’re in high demand and I’ve still got 2 packs that I’m holding out on her with.” He smirks and Cas chuckles once he’s finally swallowed. 

“So does that mean you’ve just freely given me one of your treats? Did someone bribe you with this candy bar? Or were you planning on using it for your future further corruption of this camp?” he pops the last piece of the chocolate in with a smirk and hums. 

“It’s a _protein_ bar, not a candy bar, thank you very much. I have standards. And I may or may not have embarrassed myself to great lengths to get a hold of it.” 

“Well then, …thank you for your selfless act. My stomach greatly appreciates it.” Cas gives him a small playful smile and Dean’s stomach does an odd little flip in turn.

He looks away, trying to smother the blush that for reasons unknown, has started to spread across his cheeks. He coughs, “Yeah, well, don’t be surprised if I blackmail you for it by the end of tomorrow.” He glances back to throw in a mischievous wink, but when Cas just tilts his head curiously, he feels the blush worsen. If it was anyone else but Cas, they may have taken that comment the wrong way. But the Omega just stares at him without a trace of offense. 

Dean finds that he can’t look away from those happy baby blue’s and a long moment passes by where the air suddenly feels tighter in the room and he swallows, trying to figure out why. Nothing has changed, but suddenly there’s a small weight on his chest. If for some stupid reason, he _were_ to blackmail Cas, it’d _have_ to be tomorrow, wouldn’t it? Because that just may be the last time he ever sees him. If things go according to plan, the young man currently sitting cross-legged on his bed above him with that stupid smudge of chocolate across the side of his lip, …well, he’ll be off wandering through the Croatoan infested streets by tomorrow night, probably all by himself again. Because he’s so goddamn _stubborn._

Cas’ smile wavers with a concerned look. “Dean? Are you alright?” 

Dean exhales and finally breaks their gaze, instead looking at the hand-made arm sling. “Yeah, Yeah, I’m fine. Just, uh…” He rolls his lips inwards for a second before he shrugs, “Just thinking about how goofy you look with all that chocolate on your face.” He gives a half-hearted grin and Cas’ face goes red. He quickly reaches up a hand and starts wiping agitatedly at his chin, glaring at the opposite wall. Dean sniggers and makes himself keep talking before he does something stupid like reach forward and wipe the chocolate off for him. “I was also thinking that we should probably change your arm dressing before we head out tomorrow, huh?” 

Cas blinks and pauses, confused before he glances down at himself. “Oh… yes, that would probably be ideal.” 

Dean nods and stands up, cracking his back as he does so. Cas winces at his body’s fairly spot-on impression of bubble wrap and Dean chuckles. 

“I doubt that’s good for you.” 

“Yeah, well it happens when you’re an old man like me.” He rolls his eyes and starts pulling out different boxes from under his bed. He’s like 90% sure that he has his own gauze somewhere in here. 

“You don’t appear to be very much older than I am.” The way Cas says it, it sounds like a question. 

So Dean answers, “I’m twenty-six.” He makes a triumphant sound when he finds the right box and pulls it out. “You?” He sets it down next to him on the bed and Cas looks down at his fingers with a thoughtful look. 

Dean pauses and shoots him an incredulous expression. “Dude, please don’t try to convince me that you don’t know when your own birthday is.” 

Cas glares up at him. “Of course I do. I’ll be twenty-three on October sixteenth.” He looks back down to his hands and fiddles them. When he speaks again, his voice is much quieter. “Or…I am twenty-three?” There’s an almost pained look on his face when he glances back up at Dean. “I have no idea what day it is. It was Anna’s job to keep track of the calendar.” 

“Oh.” Is all Dean can say, because shit he did not mean to twist that knife. After an awkward second, he turns and walks over to his desk. He shuffles a book or two around until he finds his own personal calendar. It’s an agenda type, pocket-sized one that he sometimes uses to make personal notes in. He’s fairly positive that he has all the days marked right. He flips through and counts out the unmarked days in his head, and then grabs a pen to mark down a little X on the current day for a place holder. 

When he turns back around, Cas is watching him with a somber but expectant expression. He tries not to make his smile a pitying one, but he’s not sure if he manages it. “Well, good news. It’s October fourth. So you haven’t missed it yet.” 

Cas only nods as Dean walks back over. It’s silent between them and a little awkward as Dean reaches forward to untie the knot of the arm sling. He almost says something completely idiotic, like ‘happy almost birthday’ or maybe that Cas will have perhaps found his sister by then, but he thankfully catches himself. He’d have to be the biggest douche in the world to flame that hope when it’s a fair ten-to-one chance that she’s dead. 

When the knot comes undone, he pauses, holding the blue cloth limply in hand. Cas looks dejected and he hates that he accidentally wiped away that mirthful smile from before. Cas looks like an entirely different being when he smiles. 

Dean shifts and sits down beside him with a leg folded underneath and hesitantly places a soft hand on his shoulder. Cas slowly glances sideways at him and Dean gives him a small, hopefully-comforting smile. 

“We’re gunna help you search for her, Cas.” 

Something warm and grateful flashes behind those blue eyes before Cas ducks his head away. “Thank you, Dean.” His voice is quiet in the silence of the room. “That is very kind of you.” 

And Dean can only handle so many chick-flick moments in one day, so before he can dwell on the softness of Cas’ voice any longer, he reaches forward and starts to unwrap the tape and gauze from his injury. 

Cas winces when the last of it tugs at his skin and Dean winces with him. “Yeah, sorry. That’s the worst bit.” 

Castiel sighs. “That wasn’t too bad.” 

Dean gives him an impish look and holds up a saline wipe. “Okay, I lied. _This_ is going to be the worst of it.” He smiles when Cas turns his head to scowl at him and then grimaces in sympathy when Cas hisses at the contact. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I know.” He says in a slew of mindless comments as he softly dabs at the wound. It’s a bright red shade and looks smaller then it did a few days ago, which is good because Jess has taught him that bright red normally means uninfected.

He’s almost finished cleaning it when Cas’ pain tolerance has apparently had enough. His good hand flashes up to grab at Dean’s wrist, halting his movements. “You don’t _sound_ very sorry.” Cas grits out with his eyes closed. 

Dean waits, letting Cas grit the pain out, and chuckles. “Oh, I am. Trust me, I’m crying for you on the inside, bud.” 

Cas squints at him and is no doubt trying to come up with a reply when Dean spots something out of the corner of his eye. There’s an odd dark coloring right above Cas’ good wrist and he reaches over to grab it before thinking. “What’s this-?”

Cas hisses again and jerks his arm away. It doesn’t take more than two seconds for his mind to gather that those are bruises. On his good arm. And they weren’t there this morning. And they look like-

“Cas, where did you get those from?” He asks with a bit of alarm. There’s no hiding the underlying concern in his voice and when Cas takes too long to answer, eyes flitting around like he’s trying to make something up, Dean’s mouth flattens into a thin line and his mood quickly plunges into confusion and agitated disbelief. “Cas!?” 

Cas flinches the slightest at Dean’s yell. He does a quick, reflexive small shrug. “It’s nothing, Dean.” 

Dean’s eyebrow’s raise, indignant. “ _Nothing?_ Cas, that’s a legitimate handprint on your arm! What the hell happened?”

Cas shakes his head, eyes averted. “It wasn’t done on purpose, Dean. Please stop trying to make a big deal out of-”

“Castiel.” His voice is low and angry and holds a tone that’s a shade more serious then what even he was going for. Cas’ mouth snaps shut and Dean can see his back twitch with an odd shiver. Cas turns wide eyes on him. 

Dean ignores the strange sensation spreading through his chest and continues, just a tad bit softer, “Who did that to you?” 

Castiel looks away to a far wall and doesn’t respond. 

Dean almost grabs his arm for his attention on reflex, but stops himself. The only way to force Cas to look at him without grabbing one of his injured arms is to stand up in front of him. He places a hand on either of Castiel’s shoulders , thumbs resting over his collarbones and leans down until Castiel has no other choice but to acknowledge him. “Cas, answer me. Those weren’t there before.”

“Why does it matter?” 

He frowns. “Why won’t you answer? Are you protecting them?” He suddenly leans back, shocked. “Was it Balthazar?!” 

“No!” Castiel looks ten times more affronted at the notion then Dean does. “Of course not, Dean!”

“Then-!” He stops to growl irritably. Now he’s angry _and_ annoyed. He flips a bewildered hand in the air. “Was it Gordon? Or-” he pauses as he remembers Castiel running up the hall to him earlier. Away from- “Or Alistair?” 

Cas’ mouth twitches downwards and that’s all the answer Dean needs. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He angrily paces three feet across his room and back before he stops in front of Cas, whose looking at him with a puzzled and dazed expression. “Why? Why did he do that? What-”

Cas slowly shakes his head. “I told you, Dean. I don’t think he meant to. We were having a disagreement-”

“ _A disagreement-”_

“Yes!” Castiel cuts him back off, voice rising. “A disagreement. It’s just a bruise, Dean. It’s not like he hit me. I’ve done worse to your people in this camp myself. Why are you overreacting?”

That get’s Dean to snap his mouth shut. His ire doubles for a brief moment and he clenches his fists, before it suddenly drops.

Is he overreacting? He sucks in a deep breath and mentally counts to five before exhaling. Castiel’s obviously not upset by it. He doesn’t even know what they were fighting over. Alastair is a member of his camp and for all he knows, Castiel could have instigated it. 

But he knows Alastair. And he feels like he’s beginning to know Cas too. 

He squares his shoulders and forces himself to calm down before he looks back at Cas’ expectant gaze. It’s silent for a long moment before he quietly asks, “Should I be concerned?” 

Castiel raises a surprised eyebrow before he just as quietly answers, “If that were the case, I would have told you.” 

He exhales again long and slow. He doesn’t know if he should stay angry and get to the bottom of the incident, which is what he wants to do, or be embarrassed by the way that Cas is looking at him. He didn’t think he was being overdramatic. 

Instead he decides to do neither. He sucks it up and walks back over to Cas’ side with a clenched jaw and begins to rewrap his wound silently. The wound that Dean had put there. 

They both say nothing as he does it. Castiel is pointedly looking away and Dean’s hands are gentle. He only decides to break the quiet when he’s just finishing tucking the last of it in. “I’m not going to apologize.” He has nothing to be sorry for. 

Cas nods. “That’s fine. I did not expect you to.” 

When he’s done he steps away, but he doesn’t go far. Cas slowly looks up to meet his gaze and after a few seconds, Dean’s shoulders sag. Eventually he forces himself to speak. “…Listen. I’m sure you can take care of yourself, Cas. I just… you’re leaving tomorrow so it probably doesn’t even matter, but if you do come back afterwards, … I just want you to know that you probably shouldn’t trust Alastair, Okay? You should… it’s just best if you stay away from him. In fact, it’s just kind of a rule of thumb around here. You’re better off the farther you stay away from him and Azazel and really their entire group.” There’s not much fire behind his words. It’s not an order or demand that he needs to give. It’s just a warning that he knows he needs to get off his chest. 

Cas’ head tilts at him with a crease in his eyebrows. “But Alastair is a part of your camp.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, he’s good at gutting Croats, and he was part of the group that saved Sammy at the beginning, doesn’t mean I have to like him. When it comes down to it there’s probably quite a few people here who I wouldn’t trust farther than I can chuck ‘em.” 

 

He turns and walks over to sit on the floor by his dresser, facing Castiel. It’s quiet for a few minutes, all the anger from before gone. He’s still bothered that, for whatever stupid reason it happened, Alastair must have had a really fucking tight grip on the other to leave a bruise that stark and well-formed. But he’s also bothered by the fact that Cas had tried so hard to keep it from him. He just doesn’t understand how the omega’s mind works. Why would he care if he got angry at Alastair or not?

 

He reaches up above him and feels around on top of his desk until he can grab his calendar again. He needed to write a few things down anyways.

 

 


	12. Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this back when I wrote the previous 3 chapters but debated on posting it. This whole part was originally only supposed to be like 4 paragraphs long. oops. So much for trying to trim down my writing. I will in the future, promise.  
> So I figured I might as well put it up. No idea how fast i'll be updating. But thank you so so much to everyone who takes the time to review, it really brightens my day. (Special thanks to A-frayed-edge for being extra sweet this week <3)

 

 

 

After he marks down a few main points that have happened over the past week since the last time he’d gotten to write, he starts planning out the next week’s agenda. 

 

“…Dean?” 

“Hm?” He hums. He doesn’t have to look up to know that Cas is still staring at him. 

“…What happened between you and Sam and Alastair? Why don’t you three get along?” 

His pen pauses over the paper as he glances up. “How do you know something happened?” 

Cas huffs quietly. “It’s not hard to figure out. You three don’t exactly hide it.” He turns his head away. “I also may have asked Alastair about it. But he never really answered me.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, I bet he didn’t.” 

Cas makes a frustrated noise. 

He sighs and puts his pen down. “Why do you want to know?”

Castiel shrugs. “I’m curious.”

Dean purses his lips and eyes Cas’ form on his bed. After a long stretched out moment, Dean finally speaks. “Alastair is…he’s…” He doesn’t really know how to go about explaining it to Cas. There’s nothing concrete that he can accuse Alastair of, and Castiel doesn’t have much reason to believe his word over anyone else’s if he heard it. But… maybe that’s for Cas to decide. He changes tactic and starts over. 

“I’ve never really gotten along with him. From the start, he just rubbed me the wrong way. He’s cocky, and crass, which I know I can be… but he’s an ass about it too. He enjoys killing Croats and isn’t afraid to flaunt it. And everyone in the camp knows that I’ve kind of hated him since the beginning.” 

Cas is watching him again, listening patiently. He nods slowly. “But that’s not all of it, correct? Something _did_ happen?”

Dean nods. He takes a deep breath and lets out a slow exhale. “…There was this girl. We ran into her and her boyfriend probably… I’d say about eight months after outbreak. They were nice enough. They were real jumpy though… like they’d been through some rough times and didn’t entirely trust us when we first took them in.” It’s only as he says it that he makes the connection in his brain between them and Cas. It makes him frown and an uncomfortable feeling pulls in his gut. He doesn’t want to make any connections between her and Cas. Especially after-

He shakes his head and continues. “But it didn’t take them too long to settle in. Madison- her name was Madison, she was uh, she was an Omega too. Which didn’t really matter- or it wouldn’t have- but- uh“

“Dean.” Cas tilts his head, waits for Dean to find his words again. 

“When she showed up, it’d been a few weeks or months since we’d last had an omega in the camp, which is why I maybe thought that it was okay that she smelt weird. My sense of smell was still changing and I just thought that her scent was sharper than the others had been in the past. But, as it turned out, that wasn’t the case.”

He gives Castiel an expectant look but Castiel just stares at him, not understanding. He waits to see if maybe he’ll make the link, but after Cas just raises an eyebrow at him he sighs. “Pregnant, Cas. She was pregnant.” 

Castiel’s mouth drops open. _“Oh.”_

Dean nods. “Yeah.”

“But…” Cas’ eyebrows furrow. “To get pregnant, she’d have to…” He trails off, contemplating. Dean’s a little amused by the befuddled expression, but he knows that what Cas is actually confused on is the fact that there are no running clinics anymore. There’s no government to give permission and start prescribing the right prenatal meds for people who _plan out_ their pregnancy. Their generation has never had to consider it happening _accidentally._

“They did it the good old traditional way, Cas.” He still looks confused, so Dean helps him out. “They didn’t mean for it to happen. I don’t think anyone was thinking about it before it became an issue, but we’re running chemical-free now. I guess that’s what happens when we all go off the grid permanently. ‘Bodies start running the way they did before they took control. That’s what most of the people here think anyway. That that’s the reason we’re smelling things so weird. It’s our old biology coming back.” 

Castiel looks down at his hands, looking a little dazed. 

Dean huffs and shakes his head. “What, you haven’t thought about it?”

“No…” Cas starts and stops, eventually tacking on; “I haven’t had much free time to think on it. And nobody else ever…” he trails off, eyes widening slightly. “Oh.” 

“What?” 

“Perhaps that’s why Gabriel was…” Castiel stops, but when Dean waits for him to continue, Cas just blinks and shakes his head. “Never mind. Continue with your tale please.” 

Dean decides to let it go, and eventually continues. “Anyways, so yeah, as it turned out, Madison was two months pregnant when we brought her in. I’m not sure who first figured it out, but one day we all just knew. Which was fine. Just surprising. None of us knew how we were going to take care of a baby of all things, but we were all for helping them figure it out when the time came.”

“That’s very nice of you all.”

Dean shrugs with a reminiscent frown. “Yeah, it would have been. Like I said, her and Brady fit in easily enough. They helped with chores, Brady went on runs with us, everything was fine. But after a few weeks, Brady started acting weird. Kind of paranoid, but we didn’t really think much of it. His girlfriend was pregnant and the world had gone to hell, I probably would have been the same. …But then he started accusing us of things out of the blue. Random little things like stealing food, or talking about him behind his back. Then one day, he comes in to where Sam, Bobby, and I are sitting and says that Alastair is trying to ‘steal’ Madison.”

Cas tilts his head. “Steal her?”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, we had no idea what he was talking about either. I asked him if he meant that the grubby bastard was hitting on her, but all he did was start yelling about how we just didn’t understand. That we were probably in on it too. I think he was losing it. Too much stress or whatever it was, I just don’t know. We told him we’d keep an eye out for anything weird but that he shouldn’t worry. He just stormed off and never mentioned it again. Alastair can be a creep, but he never actually did anything as far as we could see.”

“Then, about two weeks later we were out on a scouting trip and we ran into trouble. I was in a separate group, so I didn’t actually see anything, but long story short- we lost Brady.” 

Castiel just grimaces. It’s sad, but there’s nothing he can say. It happens, however much he wished it didn’t.

“Madison was devastated. She hadn’t exactly gotten very close to anyone else in the camp before that, but a little while after Brady died, Sam and her got real close. I don’t think anything ever happened between them, they were just really close friends, but Sam’s the kind of person to offer a shoulder as soon as the tears start and Madison seemed really thankful for it. She was probably a little desperate for comfort and none of us blamed her. They were kinda inseparable for awhile there. And then one day Alastair seemed to be there just as much as Sam was. I thought it was weird, Sam and him are nothing alike, but they ended up being her closest friends I guess.”

Dean sighs, suddenly feeling tired of reliving the memory. He rubs at his forehead and decides to just get it over with. “And that’s how it was for awhile there. Madison was always with either one or the other, never both of them at the same time. Then about a month later Madison blew up one day. In the middle of a hallway she just starts _yelling_ at Alastair. And he was not happy about it. We just thought she was having a rough day, because she just sounded _so annoyed._ She told him that he was a creep, and sick in the head, which yeah maybe I agree with, but then she told him that he didn’t deserve a camp. He deserved to be alone and he’d never find anyone who’d ever want to touch him, much less be his friend. That she’d be grateful the day that he finally disappeared. It was harsh, even by my standards.”

Cas’ frowns. He doesn’t very much like Alastair, but he doesn’t think he’d ever say anything so heartless to him. He may be rude and a far bit too intrusive, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to be alone forever. “That seems like a very cruel thing to tell someone.”

Dean clicks his tongue with indifference. “I didn’t really care one way or another. I never liked him, didn’t really care if he got his feelings hurt. Now a days I’d probably trade a protein bar just to hear the spiel again.” Cas’ frown deepens but Dean ignores it. “Anyways, after that day Madison started demanding to be let out of the camp more often. She was insistent on it, made it clear that she did not want to take no for an answer. Which… we would have been perfectly fine with, but she didn’t just want to go out on strolls, she wanted to go on missions with us; out into the neighboring towns and scouting and everything. We tried everything to dissuade her, I think Sammy actually begged her, but she refused to listen to us. 

“So we started letting her come with us on the easier ones. It didn’t matter that she was six months pregnant, she absolutely refused to stay in the camp if she knew that any of us were going out. And who were we to keep her prisoner?” He doesn’t look at Cas as he says this, not wanting to start up an old argument. 

“Sam tried to go with her on every trip out, and at first I did too, but to be honest… I kind of liked it when I wasn’t in the same group as her.” He frowns, a little ashamed at himself. “I never said anything about it before, but she smelled… weird to me. It was more than her just being Omega. She…” 

“She what, Dean?”

“Her scent was sweet but it wasn’t really… a good kind of sweet, you know?” Cas shakes his head and Dean groans. “I don’t know how to explain it, Cas. It just made me uncomfortable to be around her, like I just shouldn’t be….her whole scent just screamed at me to back off, I don’t know how Sam could handle it.”

He stares off into a far corner for a few seconds, a frown marring his features. “But I should have powered through it, it was selfish of me to leave her on her own just because…because I didn’t _like the way she smelled.”_

Cas tilts his head. “Were you put in charge of her protection?” 

Dean’s eyes snap to his, unhappy. “No, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Then I don’t see how that burden should be put upon your shoulders? There were others that went out with her, correct? Did you ever personally let her leave when she was alone? Was her being reckless your responsibility?” Cas is confused by the amount of guilt he can hear in Dean’s voice. From the sound of it, him and Madison were never that close. 

“It’s not just that simple, Cas! She-” Dean grits his teeth and shakes his head. “She was six months pregnant, and a little hysterical, we shouldn’t of let her be leaving period, much less choosing when she was protected or not.” 

It’s silent for a minute as Cas watches Dean on the floor. Dean tries to distract himself by idly itching at the inside of his wrist. He’s kind of dying to have a cigarette right now. 

Cas finally speaks up, voice quiet and calm. “So what happened to her? Why did you begin telling me her story, Dean?” 

Dean bites on his lip for a moment. He sighs and closes his eyes. “After the fight, she wasn’t the only one acting antsy. Some other people were going out of their way to go on outside strolls or sticking to their rooms, like their was this weird tension in the air that nobody wanted to deal with. Alastair was a lot more agitated then normal, which we knew was coming. You don’t just bounce back after being told that someone would rather have you dead then their friend, and nobody in the camp stuck up for him. We all liked Madison more then him; it wasn’t a secret. I heard him once on a trip back to the camp, he started referring to her as the ‘ungrateful bitch that didn’t understand her place’ and that if she didn’t ‘watch her back’ karma would get her.” Dean’s fist clenches and he has to swallow down the old anger that was building up in his chest. 

Cas eyes slowly widen as he thinks that he might just understand where this is going. 

“I told him to shut up, but never did anything else about it. I thought it would just blow over eventually. Then… there was a large scouting trip that went out. Two jeeps, eight people. I opted to stay behind. It was a large group, I didn’t think anything could happen. Sam, her, and Alastair were on the out group.” 

Dean’s sentences get shorter, more clipped, like he’s just stating facts that he’s heard one too many times. “From what I’ve heard, they were checking out a small shopping center place, thought maybe they could find some left over supplies. The group got split up. Sam says that they didn’t even realize it until all of a sudden there was just screaming and yelling everywhere. By the time they found the three people who’d wandered off… Alastair and Ruby were holding a Plexiglas door shut with Croatoans scrambling to get through on the other side.” Dean stops short for a second and forces himself to breathe. His next words are spat through gritted teeth. “Madison was trapped on the other side of the glass. Sam saw her get mauled to pieces.” 

Castiel can feel his stomach dropping. Dean presses on with an odd somber determination, staring off at the far wall. “She was six months pregnant and we let her get torn and shredded to pieces. Sam had nightmares for months …about her-her screams…and her body. There was so much _blood-_ ”

“Dean, please stop.” Cas presses a cool hand to his own neck, trying to cool off where it suddenly feels overly warm. It reminds him of how he felt when he was seven, right before he threw up in the middle of a grocery store. It’s uncomfortable and the emotion in Dean’s voice isn’t helping. 

“All we had to do was say no- keep her from leaving our camp. Or-or send more people with her. Or god forbid, make sure that she wasn’t left in the hands of fucking _Alastiar._ He swears that he had nothing to do with it, but we _know._ Sam saw how relieved that bastard looked when he rounded the corner and saw them holding the door shut!” Dean’s voice is rising and Castiel is quick to hop off the bed and kneel by the young alpha. He gently encircles Dean’s wrist with his good hand, it’s a feeble move of comfort but he doesn’t know what else to do. He didn’t mean to drudge up such a horrid subject when he’d asked. He had no idea that Dean would react like this. 

“Dean, please. It’s okay. You can stop now.” There’s an odd chill settling over his shoulders. Dean, and apparently Sam, are so adamantly sure that Alastair was the cause of this Madison girl’s death. But Castiel has spent time with the beta. Hell, he even spent a night with him. And while he knew that he could be intimidating, did he really think him capable of such …heartless murder? Then again, he’s seen first hand of how easily some people can switch. 

Dean shakes his head minutely, but he doesn’t remove his arm from Castiel’s touch. His eyes meet Castiel’s and his jaw clenches. “You know what the worst part of it is?” Castiel doesn’t respond, but he waits. “…They just let it go. The whole goddamn camp, they just let it get swept under the rug. Nobody wanted to talk about it after it happened. Madison, Brady, and their child all got killed and nobody wanted to dig into it because there was nobody left to throw a fit over it.” Dean’s hand begins to slightly tremble with his simmering anger and Castiel squeezes his hand tighter. “Sam tried. And I wanted to back him up, but there was nothing we could do. It was our word, that we _thought_ he let her get trapped on purpose, versus his. And nobody wanted to hear anything about it. Alastair sticks to the story that she didn’t run fast enough, that they had to shut the door when they did or the Croatoans would have gotten through and to them all. And I know not everyone believes that, but they decided to just buy it. They didn’t want any more unease in the camp.” 

Castiel chews on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t want to say it, he really probably shouldn’t. But he finds himself quietly asking anyways. “…Are you sure that that’s not what happened Dean?” 

Dean’s reaction is so immediate that it shocks him. He rips his arm out of Cas’ reach and vehemently hisses _“Don’t.”_ Cas falls back on his behind, mouth dropping open. Dean’s eyes flash as he leans forward into his space. “Just don’t, Cas. You don’t get to come in here, and after a few _days,_ try to act like you have _any_ idea on what goes on around here.” 

It takes Cas a few tries before he can finally get any words to come out. “I-I’m not, Dean.” Dean’s jaw clenches again, like he’s waiting for Castiel to fight him back on the subject but he just shakes his head slowly. “I’m not taking his side, Dean…It’s like you said, I haven’t been here long enough to even try and do that. I was only asking.” A few tense seconds slip by until Dean forcefully slumps back against the dresser and resolutely looks away. 

Cas can see the way Dean swallows shallowly a few times before he opens his mouth to speak.“…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

Castiel shrugs, but then he realizes that Dean can’t see him. “It’s okay, Dean.” 

“No, it’s not. I seem to do that a lot around you. It’s not right.” 

Castiel doesn’t exactly disagree with his statement, but he doesn’t feel even remotely like telling him so right now. So he simply turns and rests his back against the dresser too. He waits and lets Dean calm down at his own pace, simply trying to be a comforting presence on his other side as he does so. The overhead lights eventually flicker out. The dimmed ones shakily switch on.

It’s a long quiet while before either of them tries to break the silence. 

“…Dean?” 

 

“…hm?”

“…For what it’s worth,” He starts quietly, voice barely heard in the room. “I don’t think that it’s right either. To… decide to forget someone so easily. Your camp should have at least contemplated that Madison’s death involved foul play.” 

He doesn’t say anything more after that. It feels inordinately ironic that he’s ready to just let the subject drop. He doesn’t want to hear about Madison anymore. He’s even regretful for forcing Dean to tell him her story. 

“…Cas?”

“Yes?”

“…Thanks.” 

*

Dean takes one last drag of the Cigarette and holds the smoke in, savoring it before blowing it out through his mouth. He flicks the filter down on the ground and puts it out with his boot. The chill of October is once again creeping in, slowing chasing away any of the heat still steeped in the ground from the previous few warm days. Dean thinks that he’s ready for the weather to pick a side. 

Dean doesn’t pull his jacket any closer as a few goose bumps start to climb up his arms. He wants the chill to air out any last remnants of his bitter anger from before.

He’s fine now. Madison’s story is now an old one, no matter how much it still sometimes irks him. He doesn’t really know why he went into so much detail with Cas. Maybe he somehow thought that retelling it to someone who wasn’t here when it happened would…would…

He doesn’t know. But in a weird way, he’s kind of glad he did. Telling Cas… it kind of felt like he wasn’t letting Madison’s story die with his camp’s indifference. Someone else knew. She wasn’t being forgotten. 

And Castiel didn’t seem angry … or entirely reluctant to hear Dean’s thoughts on the matter. Even though Dean never really gave him a choice. 

 

After sitting there with Cas for a while, Dean eventually got up; said he had to stretch his legs. He told Cas that he could stay in his room if he wanted to, that Dean would be back in awhile to walk Cas back to his room if he was still there. 

Now it’s been probably half an hour, maybe more. He’s not sure if Cas would still be there. After all, the Omega does seem to have a knack for disappearing every time Dean turns around. 

He’s staring off into the black of the forest, waiting for that moment when the cold gets to be uncomfortable. It’s not his job to be out here right now. There’s three others somewhere, walking around the perimeter of the camp on guard duty. Dean should be inside catching some shut eye for the trip tomorrow. The jeep is packed and Sam and Balthazar probably have their duffels ready to go. 

As soon as the sun comes up, they’re heading out. He should double check his own bag, make sure it still has everything that he’ll need. Maybe he should even stick in a few extra clothes, since Castiel will be leaving with nothing but the crappy scrubs on his back. 

Dean sighs and turns around, heading back in. 

The halls are empty, and the darkness of them is comforting. The place doesn’t seem dead to him at night like it first did when he came here. Now the tiled halls are almost soothing. This is their home base. These clinical-looking halls represent their safety. Sam’s safety. They’ve really grown on him. 

When he reaches his bedroom door, he pauses, listening. It’s quiet. Cas probably decided to go back on his own after that awkward experience. Dean doesn’t blame him. 

But when he pushes the door open, he softly snorts in surprise. Not only is Cas still in his room, he’s slumped over looking nearly comatose on his bed. His legs are still half crossed like he’d been sitting when he’d fallen asleep and had simply slid sideways down the wall until his face met the bed. 

It reminds him of Sam back when he was still little and had refused to go to bed even when it was way after his bedtime, always trying to act like he wasn’t tired until he eventually passed out wherever he ended up sitting down. 

He shakes his head and after a second, decides to shake Castiel’s shoulder. “Hey, Cas.”

“Mmm…” Cas lazily swats at his hand and burrows his face deeper into his sheets. Dean huffs and rests his hands on his hips. For being such a jumpy guy before, Cas definitely looks like someone who’d be comfortable sleeping the night away without a care in the world right now. 

“Cas, wake up. This is kind of where _I_ sleep.” 

Cas actually lets out a groan at Dean’s loud voice and lifts his good hand to cover his face. “Shut up, Bal.” He moans. 

Dean blinks incredulously. He did not. 

Dean grabs the far end of his comforter and _yanks._ Cas falls the opposite way into the wall with a yelp and shoots up, glaring irritably at Dean through bleary eyes. 

“ _What,_ Dean?!” 

He chuckles and spreads a hand to the side, an unsaid ‘What do you think?!’ But Cas does not seem to be in a mood for thinking and just sits there glaring. 

Dean huffs and pulls his comforter out the rest of the way. “You know what, never mind, Cas. You just go right back to sleep, princess.” He lifts up the bed sheet and throws it over the Omega, then follows it with a good pillow to the face before Cas can come up with a comeback. He grabs his second pillow and tosses it on the ground. So much for a good night’s worth of sleep. 

He lays down on the ground over his comforter and pulls half of it over himself, making a make-shift sleeping bag. 

Cas finally seems to figure out what the hell is going on and he crawls to the side of the bed to look down at Dean. His hair is rumpled like crazy and the way his eyes glint in the semi-dark kind of make him look like an owl. 

“I apologize, Dean. I didn’t mean to steal your bed. It was an accident-”

“It’s fine, Cas. Go back to sleep.”

“No, really. I can go back to the holding room.”

Dean groans and pulls the comforter over his head. His words are muffled. “I’m already down here, Cas. Just shut up and sleep, would ya?” 

Dean waits. He doesn’t hear any movement so he assumes that Cas is still sitting there looking down at him. After a few seconds the bed creaks and he hears Cas lying back down. He pulls the comforter off of his head and settles in. This isn’t too uncomfortable.

“…Thank you, Dean.”

“ _Goodnight,_ Cas.”

 

“…Goodnight, Dean.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly hate to do this, but i'm putting NE on temporary hiatus. I have to focus on my school right now and I can't balance both. If my course load lightens up in May I might be able to work on this again, but only time will tell. I hate writers who don't finish their fics, and it's killing me to do this, but school is school. :(


	13. Afterhours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is no promise of me being able to finish this or continue it at a constant pace, but I _will_ try to still work on this whenever I'm able.  
>  Thank you to everyone who reviews and who's still kept up with this after so much time :)

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                

 

 

 

Castiel quietly sat alone at the deserted dining room table. He was meticulously skinning apples using the waning light that was still barely drifting in through the boarded windows. He’d long since turned it into a mindless game of trying to peel the longest piece of skin he could without it breaking. So far, he’d managed to get three entire turns around the apple and was secretly quite pleased with himself. Soon he’d be better at this than Anna. The building was unnaturally quiet for the time of day but with the tension between everyone as of late it wasn't too surprising. He was rather enjoying the silence for the time being.

"Castiel!" His hand slips, and the skin of the fruit breaks. He huffs a soft curse. Speak of the devil.

He pauses, hands falling to rest on the tabletop. After another moment of silence, he sighs. "Yes?" He calls up, trying to let his voice carry to the upstairs.

Quiet. More silence. Overhead, he hears the floorboards creak.

Castiel stands up with a grunt, his legs having fallen asleep. He tries to shake the feeling off, but when he does the numbness only spreads up to the rest of his body. Odd. It takes a few slow steps to compensate for the lead foot feeling, but by the time he reaches the wooden staircase he's grown accustomed.

"Anna?" He calls. He can just see the top of the stairs, the second floor of the house appearing much more lit than the main floor. The windows are clear up there, only surrounded by thin decorum curtains.

"...Castiel? Come up here." Her voice sounds somewhat distant. She must be in the back room they're sharing near the rear of the house.

It's tiring, dragging his feet up one step at a time. It must be from the decrease in food lately, this exhaustion. At the top of the stairs he has to shield his eyes for a moment from the sudden light. It's twilight, so the sun is going down, but it's still enough that he can spot the drifting flecks of dust twirling slowly in the hallway. He wanders down at a measured pace, feeling his toes shift through the comfortable carpet. It used to be a beautiful off-white, but now the carpet's more of a light brown, worn down from suffering through heavier traffic than it was initially intended for.

He knocks once just to be polite before pushing their door open. "Anna? You wanted-? Anna?" He glances around in confusion. Their room is empty. Both of their beds are made and tidy, pushed to either side of the room. "Anna?" He calls down the hall questioningly. He still hears nothing. He wonders if there's something going on with everyone else that he wasn't told about. Usually he runs into at least one person in the hall out here.

"I'm down here! Hurry up!" He hears her call from back where he came from and he turns around in confusion. How...? She must've used the back stairwell. Or perhaps he heard her wrong the first time.

"What is it?" He closes the door softly, though there's not really any need to with them shouting back and forth to each other from across the house. The action just seems right, considering the still atmosphere of the second floor during this time of day.

“Would you just hurry up?”

He pauses at the top of the stairs, looking down. It's so much darker down there. The boarded windows of the downstairs fend off the natural light and their dwindling supply of candles begs for them to only use them in severe emergencies. Everything below him is covered in steeples shadow.

He doesn't really want to go back down. He'd rather crack open his latest book, curl up in the windowsill and get a few pages out of the way before the sun disappears off the far horizon. He glances behind him and through the windows he can see the distant outline of one of the old school buildings. The windows of the far building are all dark. One of the front doors is hanging off its hinges, the other still boarded up from the outside.

Outside seems as empty as it does here inside, but at least he can see the trees trembling in the late afternoon wind. At least he can see that the planet is, in fact, still turning despite his little world of immobility.

He hears a metal pot suddenly clang against the kitchen floor below and the continuous loud ring of it afterwards echoes up to him. It sounds out of place. Too loud.

“Are you alright?” He calls, sucking it up as he begins to descend. Half way down and he’s parted from the sunlight. It’s darker down here than before and once again he has to wait for his eyes to readjust.

Anna doesn’t answer and he almost groans. He’s not up for a game of cat and mouse right now. He passes by the dining room table and frowns when he sees that his apples are gone. He hadn’t been done.

“Anna, what did you do with the apples?” He asks when he turns into the kitchen.

It’s empty. Dark and empty and he does a slow turn around in confusion. There’s no pot on the ground.

“Castiel.” Her voice comes calmly from the dining room that he’d just left.

“…Anna…?” He asks quietly, uncertainly. His legs feel stuck to the ground as he looks back through the doorway he’d just come in through. It looks pitch black in the room over and he doesn’t see his sister. The air is thick and the dark that seems to stop right at the edge of the kitchen’s doorway looks almost palpable.

“Come here.” Her voice sounds distant again and an uncomfortable feeling of dread slowly creeps into his bones.

“No, you come to me.” He tries to make his voice sound level but he knows it comes out small and nervous. He waits, but this time there’s no reply.

He swallows and takes a stuttering step away with a sudden knowledge that he does not want to be near the wall of blackness that is the dining room. It looks suffocating and for a small terrifying second, he swore he could see it creeping into the kitchen, trying to reach out to him. “Anna? Answer me.” He takes another step back, distancing himself.

“This is your fault.” It’s a whisper. Anna’s whisper, right by his ear and he whips around, heart in his throat.

“What?” He croaks, voice wobbling. He clenches his hands, trying to stop the shake when he sees nobody there. His breath is coming short and uneven and his head swivels back and forth, trying to catch any glimpse of her. “Anna, stop this! Where are you?”

“Where are you?” Her voice repeats back, the same worried and paranoid inclination to it. He can’t tell where it’s coming from now.

“I asked you to be strong. We just needed a few more days and you couldn’t do it. Why did you do this?” Her voice sounds so close, like she’s right in front of him but all he sees is darkness creeping in. He takes another faltering step backwards, and yells when he trips on something, leg twisting out from under him, arms flailing out to try and grab onto something, anything.

His head slams into the kitchen cabinet and his vision jerks, disorienting everything. There’s a loud, clanging ringing in his ears and he dazedly spots a metal pan clattering across the kitchen floor, dancing as if it was tied to a string. He can’t feel it, but he knows his ankle is in pain. He’s probably sprained it.

The pan glints, and he suddenly realizes that there’s light. The whole room is lit. It’s blindingly light. It’s searing.

“Anna!” He shouts desperately, clambering up, using the cabinet next to him as purchase to try and get his legs under him. His feet aren’t working right and his head’s dizzy and his heartbeat is in his ears. “Anna!” He shouts again. He has to get to her. He needs to find her.

“Here. Come with me, I’ll help you.” There’s a new voice, deeper, behind him. He looks back and he can’t tell who it is. It’s some man, standing broad and large in the back doorway, hand stretched out towards him. He can only make out his outline with all the blinding light blazing from right behind him.

Cas shakes his head. No. No, he can’t go with that man. He can’t. He turns, and it’s like his feet have been unlatched. He runs.

“Castiel!” Anna shouts again, this time urgent and scared and so far away. He can tell this time. It’s coming from the other side of the house but as soon as the recognition hits, the light is replaced by fire. Everything’s on fire and he can’t make it through. He raises his hands to cover his face as flames lick closer and he stumbles to the side as part of the ceiling suddenly collapses to the floor next to him.

“Hey!” He hears the deep voice at the same moment he feels a large hand grab his wrist, yanking. His heart stops. No, no, no. The metal pan is in his hand. He doesn’t know how or when but he’s holding the pan he’d tripped on in his hand and he’s moving before he’s had time to think it through.

His arm jerks up with all the force he can muster and he braces for the impact, for the loud shattering crack of skull and-

 

Castiel yelps, shooting up in bed. He grabs at his bad arm, wincing as pain shoots through his muscles. He curls in on himself, and bites his clothed knee to suppress his pained groan.

It was a nightmare, he realizes instantly. Or a memory. A mix of the two and he pants into his knee as he tries to regain any sort of control over his body. He’s covered in sweat and the bangs of his hair are sticking wetly to his forehead. He creaks his eyes open and is thankful to see the dim light gently illuminating the room from overhead. Not too dark, not too bright.

The pain begins to meld into a throb and he sighs, trying to grit it out until it becomes more bearable. After a few minutes, he forces himself to uncurl, relaxing into a sitting position, shoulders sagging. He’s not in the holding room, he thinks as he glances around. No, he’s in-

He shifts sideways and glances over the side of the bed. He’s in Dean’s room and the young alpha is still curled up on the floor, asleep. Castiel quietly swings his legs over the edge of the bed, resting them on the floor and he anxiously swipes a hand over his face and through his hair, feeling the way it sticks up at odd ends.

He’s wide awake now. Adrenaline is still racing mutely underneath his skin, causing an uncomfortable need to shake his leg or pace, but he doesn’t want to wake Dean up. His throat feels dry and scratchy, and he tries swallowing to rectify it. It’s warm in the room, unnaturally so.

Dean’s wrapped up tightly in his comforter and Castiel’s glad that he hadn’t woken him, especially after he’d been nice enough to let Castiel steal his bed for the night. Dean’s face is barely visible in the dim room, but the longer Castiel stares, the more he can see how the alpha’s features are scrunched up tightly into an uncomfortable grimace in his sleep. He wonders if he’s having a nightmare too. Or perhaps it’s the face of someone who was on the edge of waking up. He’s not sure and Castiel feels cruel that he’d had to give his bed up and now it won’t even go used.

“Why did you do this?” He swallows shallowly again as Anna’s voice from his dream echoes in his head. It’s not something she would say and he hates how it resonates in him.

He resituates the arm sling that had fallen off in his sleep and stands up on shaky legs to tiptoe over Dean’s form. He creaks the door open and the hallway outside is deserted. He steps out and closes the door as softly as he can.

-

 

The hallways are dark again, the occasional overhead light emanating a soft glow. The air feels cooler out here, and he hopes it’ll help clear the odd feeling in his chest. He’s still shaken by his dream, but that’s not the only thing bothering him. He feels… off. He doesn’t know if it’s the after affects of jerking his bad arm in his sleep or if maybe it’s something else on top of it. He prays with hope that it’s not the first sign that he’s coming down with something. Looking for Anna will only be twice as hard if he has to do it sick.

He lets his good arm trail along the walls edge as he forces himself to start a measured pace forward. He needs to burn off this excess energy, maybe then he’ll be able to force himself to get another hour of sleep before they head out in the morning. It feels late, and if his internal clock isn’t completely shot, he’d guess it’s somewhere around three or four.

It is a bit of a refreshing change, being alone. Not having any eyes on him. It’s different from the deserted atmosphere of his dream and he tries to use it to calm that unending restlessness. If he listens very carefully, he can sometimes hear a muted snore from behind one of the closed doors as he walks down.

He slides his hand underneath the arm sling as he walks and traces the fresh bandage covering his arm. It’s wrapped tightly, more so than before probably because Dean had been distracted when he’d done it, but Castiel finds that he doesn’t mind. It’s concrete and gives him one more thing to focus on.

He tries to let it distract him. The bandage, the sounds of others in their rooms, the soft falls of his steps on the tiled floor. It doesn’t. No matter how hard he tries the images of his dream keep flashing behind his eyes. The dark empty house, the pan, the fire.

He knows it wasn’t his fault it happened. At least… it wasn’t his directly. He also knows that Anna would never blame him for what happened. But now thanks to the dream, he has the knowledge of what Anna’s voice would sound like forming the words and he bites his lip trying to quell the useless guilt he can feel trying to seed in his stomach.

It’s been too long. Well over three weeks since he’s seen her. He doesn’t want to believe what Balthazar and everyone have been trying to tell him, but in the quietness of this hallway, with no other people here to convince, it’s hard to lie to himself.

Anna won’t be there. There’s nothing left for her _there_ except danger and soured memories. She wasn’t emotionally connected to the school like he was. The only thing linking her to there was him, and look at what had happened.

The only reason she may have stayed behind, if she survived that night at all, would be to meet up with him again or to leave a clue behind as to where she would be heading. But after so much time has passed, who knows if any clues would still be remaining. Between wind and rain and animals and Croatoans… what did he expect to find when he finally reached there?

He has no idea, but it doesn’t stop the burning desire to get there and find out. He has to make sure. For a brief moment, the voice in the back of his head once again whispers to throw reason to the wind and find the exit. Find it while everyone’s still asleep and just run. Leave and travel until he finds his way so that this consuming anxiety can finally leave.

But that would be stupid. There’s no doubt that there are still people outside, patrolling this camp and Dean promised to drive him as soon as the sun rises. He wouldn’t even know which direction to head in.

He stops his pacing and leans against the corner of where two hallways meet. He sighs and closes his eyes. He wants nothing more than for time to turn back. But to when? Three weeks ago? Before what he had called his home for the better part of his life burned? Six months ago? Before their somewhat situated ‘camp’ had been disrupted by strangers? Two years ago? Before the outbreak? Sixteen years ago? Before he was sent to a boarding school that effectively separated him from all the family he knew and resulted in him being denied a normal home-life? He doesn’t know.

It’s while he’s contemplating this that he hears a scuff on the laminated floor some distance away and he creaks his eyes open. The halls, as far as he can see in the dim light, are still deserted but if he waits a minute and focuses enough, he can just barely hear a quiet murmur. A low whisper of a conversation and he tilts his head. So he’s not the only one awake at such an ungodly hour.

He drums the fingers of his good hand silently along the wall behind him for a minute before his curiosity gets the better of him. He gently pushes off the wall and creeps down the next hall on tiptoes towards the noise until he can peak around the corner.

He instantly sees the two individuals, but it takes a few seconds for his eyes to make out enough details to recognize one of them. Alastair and some young blond girl are down the way, standing underneath one of the lone lit overheads, causing both of their thin facial features to look more stark and exaggerated than normal. Alastair’s holding a basket full to the brim with what looks to be linens and they seem to be deep in a hushed conversation. The girl’s hand motions are animated as she talks and Alastair, Castiel thinks, looks annoyed.

Castiel doesn’t think he’s ever met the girl before and he wonders what on earth they could be discussing that couldn’t wait until the morning. Though, Alastair looks like he was in the middle of some laundry task, so perhaps it was a chance encounter. Though, still.

He watches as Alastair abruptly interrupts whatever tirade she was giving him, agitation evident on his face. Castiel can’t distinguish the words and he takes a silent step forward to try and better hear, hoping that the dark shadows of the area will keep him concealed.

The girl’s face suddenly bunches up in anger and cuts off Alastair with a small shove to his chest, then waves a pointed finger in his face. Castiel automatically retracts his step, hiding more behind the wall. He watches with wide eyes as Alastair puffs up his chest and steps toward her in retaliation but the girl doesn’t back away, she only stands taller and raises her voice to a level that finally reaches Castiel.

“…Think that that’s just going to get you in you’re dead wrong! I don’t think we can make this any more simpler and you’re still fucking it up!”

“Then you do something!” Alastair retorts, voice hissing in a yelled whisper, “Or tell them to stop hiding like cowards and climb out of their hole! If it’s so damn simple, then take over, see if you can get anywhere closer than I have! My work here has been immeasurably more valuable than whatever you’ve been getting up to when you’re not too busy servicing Azazel.”

Castiel waits, expecting her to shove at Alastair again for his, what he assumes, degrading comment but instead she only snorts derisively and shakes her head.

“Don’t try to get all high and mighty just because you’re feelings are hurt. He chose me to travel with him, and even if he didn’t, the others don’t want you there anyway.” She gives him a mocking smile and her tone turns scornfully sweet, “You have nothing to offer them.”

Alastair evenly replies, “Don’t try to fool yourself. You have nothing either, and once Azazel gets tired of you…” He trails off, leaving the implication open.

The blonde rolls her eyes and turns to walk away, seemingly done with their conversation. The only problem is, she turns towards Castiel, and he can tell from her reaction that he can’t move fast enough not to be seen.

She freezes just as he does, her eyes widening and mouth forming a small ‘o’. Castiel’s muscles turn rigid and for a brief moment he entertains the idea of jumping back around the corner and running back to his or Dean’s room, but it’s too late. It’s not like he can pretend that she hasn’t seen him.

Alastair follows her line of sight and looks surprised to spot him as well. His hands grip the laundry basket in his arms and frowns.

Castiel tries to think of something to say, anything that would make it seem like he hadn’t just been completely eavesdropping. The only thing that comes out is an uncertain “Hello?”

She scowls at him before whipping her head back towards Alastair. He can’t see her face but some unsaid conversation is passing between the two until Alastair shrugs and looks back at him.

“Hello, Castiel. What are you doing walking around so late by yourself?” His voice is neutral, calm.

Cas swallows and reluctantly leaves the safety of the wall’s corner to step forward. “I was just… taking a walk. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.” He says slowly, “I see.” An uncomfortable moment passes before he seems to snap out of it and Alastair walks forward, a hand motioning lazily between him and the girl. “Have you two met yet?”

The girl looks back towards him and this time there’s a small smile on her face, though something about it is completely off. She matches Alastair’s stride and walks confidently toward him and Castiel has to lock his knee’s to force himself not to back away.

She holds out a delicate hand and says, “My name is Lilith. It’s nice to meet you.”

He reaches forward and takes her hand in greeting, shaking it once before abruptly letting go, trying to play along and pretend that the atmosphere between them isn’t awkward and stiff. Her hands are cold.

The small proximity sends him a whiff of her scent and he’s mildly surprised to smell alpha. She has such a small, delicate stature and he can’t figure out what his perception of her is.

They all stand there for a quiet minute and Castiel is desperately searching for a socially acceptable way to leave.

Which, of course, is when Lilith gives a half-attempted yawn and smiles to them both. “Well, it is late. I’m going to try and get some sleep. It was nice talking to you.” She says, overly sincere, and runs a hand over Castiel’s shoulder as she passes him by. He can’t help but lean away from it.

 

She’s probably not even out of ear-shot when Alastair mutters, “Stupid bitch.”

Castiel flinches and takes an unperceivable step away. He doesn’t want to get in the middle of whatever turf war was going on between the two.

But Alastair just leans an inch closer and gives him a sarcastic smile. “Isn’t she pleasant?”

Castiel shrugs and looks away. “I wouldn’t know.”

Alastair huffs and hefts his laundry basket up higher, the action causing a few linens to fall out. “You don’t need to play nice around me. I appreciate honestly more than trivial lies.”

Castiel bends down and picks up the fallen cloths to be nice. As he does so, he tries to mutter an excuse, “I should probably be heading back to bed, too-”

“Nonsense.” Alastair interrupts him, and he takes a step away when Castiel tries to place the linens back. “You just said you couldn’t sleep. Why don’t you help me with the laundry while you’re up?” His voice is pleasant, but his face is expectant.

Castiel frowns. He doesn’t want to stay with the beta. Especially after the tale that Dean had told him only hours ago. It doesn’t seem right. In fact, the right thing to do would be to keep his distance.

“Honestly, I should-”

“This way.” Alastair doesn’t even wait for him to finish, turning down the hall and expecting Castiel to follow.

Castiel’s words die quietly on his tongue and he glances back down the hall towards Dean’s room. He contemplates simply dropping the linens on the floor and refusing.

“Castiel.” Alastair’s waiting at the far corner of the hall, a disappointed frown on his lips. “I’d really appreciate your help.”

This entire situation has an ominous feel to it. It’s an obvious kind of premonition; with the way Alastair’s face hides half in the room’s shadows and how Castiel is suddenly hyperaware of the still, quiet atmosphere around them.

There’s a very small, very minuscule, part of him that’s …curious. About what, he’s not completely sure. Possibly about what Alastair and Lilith could have been discussing so lividly about at this time of night. Maybe, he’s a bit interested to find out what Alastair could possibly want to say to him if he follows.

Or perhaps he’s more interested in the legitimacy of Dean’s accusations. …Maybe, though he knows it’s the last thing that should happen, he understands that he already has a morbid curiosity for discovering more about what happened to Madison.

He swallows down the trepidation he can feel burning at the back of his throat and takes a step forward. Alastair smirks and turns and he slowly trails after the beta.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. No sleep for the weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part of the story was giving me writers block for the longest time, and I finally got the motivation to write it. It's un-beta'd, so if anything is too confusing or I've made a mistake please feel free to let me know. Enjoy :)

 

 

 

They’re polar opposites as they walk; Castiel’s posture rigid and cautious, Alastair seeming quite at ease as he quietly hums some out of place tune under his breath.

He tries not to dawdle too far behind, afraid that he might lose his nerve and turn back, but he can’t help but hesitate once Alastair’s entered the washing room.

The hallways are lit brighter, granted not much more so, than individual rooms, and he’s once again reminded of his dream. He doesn’t want to walk into the dark.

But this isn’t a dream. He’s grown, and he can differentiate between danger and paranoia. He glances down at the innocent looking sheets in his hand and sighs. He enters the concrete laundry room that Sam had shown him before. The two large bins of water are full on either side of the drain located on the floor and the air is musty from the stagnant water.

“Why are you doing laundry in the middle of the night?” Castiel asks quietly as he walks through the doorway and to the other side of the room, opposite from Alastair. He sets one linen down on the ground, and holds the other loosely in his hand.

Alastair motions to the scrubbing rack set inside the bin and pulls out a sheet from the laundry basket. He slowly follows Alastair’s lead in dunking it inside, rubbing it back and forth over the racks. His actions are made slower by his injured arm but he doesn’t particularly care. Murky soap bubbles start to appear and he grimaces. This is what they’re washing their clothes in?

“It’s more peaceful here at night. No line to wait in. It’s nice to have some time to think by yourself, wouldn’t you agree?”

Cas hums. It is, but… “This late at night though? In the dark? Wouldn’t you rather be sleeping?”

Alastair gives him a sideways smirk. “There are a lot of things I’d rather do than sleep. I’ll sleep enough when I’m dead.”

Castiel resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead keeps them focused on his hands. It’s quiet in the room, besides the sound of the water wish-washing back and forth. That’s all that’s heard for a long while until Alastair finally breaks the quiet with a soft but confident, “How long were you standing there?”

Castiel’s motions still for a moment too long. He wasn’t expecting Alastair to just ask him straight out like that, but then again Alastair seems to always do that. His first instinct is to play dumb, but he doesn’t see the use. Instead, he decides to match Alastair in cutting to the chase. “Not very long. I don’t know what you two were arguing about.” Alastair hums, seemingly unconcerned, but Castiel can tell that he doesn’t believe him. “…But, whatever it was, your conversation sounded… intense.”

“That’s the only way Lilith knows how to speak.”

“She sounds pleasant.”

Alastair snorts, seeming amused. “She can be, when she’s after something.” Then his smile drops and he sighs. His hands let go of the current linen, letting in float in the water, and he grabs the sides of the bin. He stares at the swirling soapy water in front of them, something obviously weighing on his mind.

The silence is awkward and heavy and Castiel’s eyes flit around, glancing at the door. Alastair is obviously working himself up to say something, and based off of their track record, Castiel’s not so sure anymore that he wants to hear it.

The beta nods to himself slowly, as if deciding something, before he looks up at Castiel with an unnerving smile. “Can I discuss something with you? Confidentially?”

Castiel frowns. “If this is another interrogation about my camp-”

Alastair claps the sides of the metal bin, the sharp noise making Castiel flinch, before he shoots his arm forward into the water bin and drags the forgotten sopping-wet sheet out. Castiel freezes, caught off guard by the sudden action.

“Why the late hostility, Castiel?” Alastair questions as he rounds the corner of his water bin, wet sheet dragging behind him.

“I’m not sure what you are talking about.” He mutters uncomfortably.

Alastair approaches the wall that Castiel and the second bin stand beside, which he begrudgingly recognizes is also the wall farthest from the doorway.

“Would you be content? Living in a large camp?” The beta finally speaks and Castiel fights the urge to scowl.

“I don’t want to talk about-”

“Please, hear me out.” Alastair interrupts him and Castiel’s caught off guard by the open, non-threatening look Alastair is obviously trying so hard to reach. His shoulders are hunched over a bit, trying to be more eye-level with him and there’s no trace of the usual smirk he carries. “I don’t mean to rile you up by bringing it up again. I’m just curious. Will you be happy when you return to wherever it is your camp was? Or, after you find whatever it is your so stubbornly looking for, would you prefer to live again in a large camp?” His head tilts, imploring. Castiel watches him, trying to figure out what Alastair is getting at.

The beta lifts the dripping sheet up and hangs it unceremoniously up on a protruding hook from the wall that Castiel hadn’t noticed before. “It was true what I said before, and you know it. A larger camp means safety and stability.”

Castiel’s jaw clenches. “Of course it does. I know how camps work. This isn’t news to me.”

“Then let me help you.” Alastair takes a small eager step towards him and Castiel takes one back. They both frown.

He doesn’t know if Alastair’s already aware of the fact that Castiel has been invited back. He doesn’t know if he _wants_ him to be aware of it. Alastair is a confusing mystery, and he has an odd feeling that the beta’s line of thought is somehow running in a completely different direction than his own. “I don’t think I want your help.” He quietly returns.

Alastair sighs again, disappointed. He lowers his eyes from Castiel’s weary stare and in a voice that seems almost too unguarded, says, “I don’t know what I’ve done to make you so irritated with me. I just don’t want to see you killed. Does that make me such a horrid-?” He pauses, cutting himself off. Castiel tracks his distracted gaze down to his bruised forearm. "Is that...?" He raises an eyebrow and Cas shakes his sleeve down to try and cover it uncomfortably.

For want of distancing himself, he grabs a few of the soaked sheets off of the side of the tub and walks to the opposite bin where he can wash them off, leaving Alastair standing there unanswered. He throws them in half-heartedly, trying desperately not to look back at where he can feel the beta’s gaze on him like a weight.

On one hand, Alastair gives him an uncomfortable feeling, which puts him on edge. To the point where he’s really wishing he’d just refused to follow the beta in here in the first place. On the other hand, Alastair has a point. He’s creepy, and a bit awkward, but he hasn’t exactly done anything to warrant any hate. He’s argued with him before, sure, and he even has the bruise to prove that Alastair isn’t the gentle soul he’s trying to pretend to be.

But Dean shot him. Sam’s hand jumped to his holster when he’d moved too quickly near Jess. Castiel had tried hurting Sam. Castiel _has_ hurt Jo and Gordon. When it comes down to it, Alastair’s been one of the least threatening people here, Castiel included.

“I’m sorry.” The beta’s voice comes from close behind him and Castiel jerks out of his thoughts. Alastair motions, as if embarrassed, towards his arm and frowns. “That was an accident. I wasn’t thinking.”

“What do you mean by helping me?” He ignores the apology and instead continues with, “What do you want from me?”

Alastair takes another step towards him and Castiel fights with himself not to back away. He’s sick of retreating. He’s tired of the precautions and paranoia.

Alastair looks him up and down and replies calmly. “I’ve already told you. I just want to help keep you alive.”

“I don’t need you or anyone else here to keep me alive.” Castiel feels like a broken record. “I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

Alastair suddenly takes another step closer, only inches away, and Cas throws an arm up between them to keep him away. His butt hits the metal bin behind him and he watches Alastair with wide alarmed eyes.

“For how long though?” Like a switch, Alastair is scowling now. “Because everyone is fine on their own, until they aren’t. Every camp is secure, until it isn’t. There’s always going to come a time when you’ll need help, or die without it. ”

Castiel tries not to reveal that his heartbeat has kicked up its pace. There is no possible way that Alastair isn’t aware of how uncomfortable he is with this proximity and yet he can feel Alastair leaning closer. He can feel frustrated anger boiling up through his veins. He pushes more forcefully against the other’s chest and grates out, “And when that happens, it will be my issue to deal with. You’re the _last_ person I want help from!” The sharp words are too pointed, too accusing to come off as random.

He can physically see the words sink in, with the way Alastair’s eyes flash and his nostrils flair. His true anger starts to break through the careful facade he’d been wearing.

The beta’s hand shoots forward, wrapping a fist in Castiel’s shirt and pulls him forward, effectively ruining whatever distance Castiel had created. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” He growls out menacingly.

Castiel no longer has room to feel frightened. He’s pissed. He can feel his jaw clench, trying to keep himself from saying something he’d regret.

Alastair’s lip lifts in a hushed snarl, “No, go ahead Castiel. Tell me what’s on that thick mind of yours.”

…Well, his self-control has been quite lacking as of late. “No wonder they hate you.” He replies in the same harsh tone. “Every time I try to give you a chance, you just give me another reason to believe you’re as vile as they say you are.”

He’s inexplicably caught off guard when Alastair makes the first move, and his eye flares with pain as Alastair strikes him across the face.

He’s shocked beyond words at first, until Alastair uses the hand still bunched in his shirt to pull him close again and begins an enraged tirade of, “Who do you think you are? Like you get to act high and mighty- you should be _thanking_ me, you ungrateful little-”

He’s cut off, but prepared, when Castiel strikes back, only being able to scrape his fist across the beta’s chin before Alastair is reaching for his hands. He shoves against the beta, forcing him to release his grip. He instinctively knows he can’t win this fight in the condition he’s in, and tries to go for the door but he’s not fast enough.

Alastair punches him in the back of the head, full force, and the momentum has Castiel tumbling to the floor. Before he can even try to get up, Alastair is standing over him and has a death grip with both hands on the back of his head. Using his hair as a handle, he heaves Castiel up until he’s on his knees.

He yelps in pain and the arm-sling finally falls off as Castiel scrambles to try and get any hold of purchase on his attacker. He reaches for the hands holding him and they just pull harder. His bad arm burns with pain but the adrenaline of fight or flight is overwhelming enough to ignore it.

Alastair wrenches his head back and infuriatingly sneers in his ear, “I wonder how long it would take you, if you knew what was truly waiting out there for you, to come crawling back to me and beg for mercy.”

“The same mercy you showed Madison?” He hatefully snarls, just as he finally grasps at the side of Alastair’s face and ear and rakes his nails as hard as he can. He can feel skin tear under his fingers but it doesn’t have its intended effect. Instead of letting go, Alastair tightens his grip with one hand and shoves Castiel’s head forwards until his chin is pressed to his chest and blindly punches at the side of Castiel’s face. Without being able to see Alastair behind him, he can’t really defend himself.

Alastair has apparently had enough of the scrapping. Using his hold on Castiel’s hair, Castiel is thrown off balance when Alastair suddenly begins to drag him sideways, forcing his head to remain bowed. His knees scuff against the floor as he struggles to get his footing under him but by the time he finally manages, Alastair shoves him forward. He knocks into the side of the metal washing bin and his hips hit the edge. He’s forced to reach out for the sides of the tub or face falling in.

Which is enough time for Alastair to continue his assault. He’s got a death-grip on Castiel’s bad arm before he can straighten himself out, and it’s wrenched violently behind his back, and once again Alastair shoves him down by the back of his head. Castiel’s pained cry is cut off by inhaling a mouthful of murky water and he chokes.

He flails desperately, panic consuming his senses. Alastair is pressed up behind him, he can’t get the momentum to get up with the beta strong-arming him the way he is.

Finally, the beta pulls his head up a few inches out of the water. He gasps frantically for air, spluttering. He can barely process the heated words being sneered in his ear. “Karma made sure that bitch got what was coming to her. If you’re not too careful, my hand might just slip again.” Alastair presses against him harder, and lifts his bad arm up higher behind his back, until it feels like it may just break. He’s horrified as he distantly realizes that he can feel Alastair’s erection pressed up against his ass.

“You’re disgusting.” He rasps out, cheeks reddening in embarrassed mortification. He uses his free hand on the edge of the bin to try and lift himself higher from the water, but as soon as he does so Alastair shoves him back down until his face is below the surface.

He’s prepared this time and tries to suck in a breath before going under, but it still doesn’t stop the panicked reaction. He hears the beta laugh mockingly and can feel him purposely rubbing up against his backside. He’s overwhelmed and some of the air escapes his lungs. He grits his teeth, trying to hold it in but he’s too panicked. He flounders, dazedly trying to scramble up against the assault. But it’s to no use; the beta is immovable above him. Alastair leans down, pressing against his back and murmurs, “That’s right, keep struggling.” His air runs out and instinctively he gasps for air, only to inhale water. He’s going to drown. Alastair’s going to kill him just like he killed Madison and there’s no one around to know what happened. “You like it, don’t you, you filthy-”

Suddenly the force holding him down is gone. Castiel flings himself out of the water. His knees buckle and he’s left wheezing and choking for air on the ground. His vision swims and his thoughts are stupefied before he finally focuses on the scene in front of him.

He’s stunned to see Dean on top of Alastair, who is helpless against the punches being whaled down upon him. He’s dumbfounded, and can’t find the urge to move as he watches Dean‘s fists fly down again and again.

It must have only been a few seconds though, before somebody is running in and attempting to pull Dean off of the beta. It’s Met, who’s small obese stature looks ridiculous next to the blind rage of the Alpha. Dean jolts up with a snarl and shoves him away before continuing his assault on the struggling Alastair. He’s going to kill him, Castiel distantly thinks.

He stumbles up into a standing position and shakily walks forward. His legs almost buckle twice before he reaches them. He weakly grabs for Dean’s shoulder just as Met once again tries to tug the alpha off. Dean reacts the same way, thoughtlessly using his strength to shove them away. Except, this time his eyes meet Castiel’s right before he hits the ground and like a switch, the alpha’s movements freeze.

Castiel doesn’t remember seeing Dean move but suddenly he’s right there, pulling him up into a sitting position. Dean is panting and his hands are constantly moving from his shoulders, to his arms, to his face like he can’t decide where to put them. “Cas, are you alright? Cas, look at me. Breathe. You’re hyperventilating. Just breathe, Cas.”

Castiel dazedly watches the worried face in front of him; glances at the groaning form of Alastair sprawled out on the ground, and looks back up into hunter green eyes. “ _You’re_ the one who’s hyper… ventilating.” He loses his breath half way through the sentence and realizes that perhaps Dean is right.

It’s then that Ellen and Ash come running in, soon followed by Sam and several others, all dressed in their pajamas.

He feels like his brain must be skipping through time because the next thing he hears is Met bellowing out angrily, “Did you _see_ him?! He just went completely _insane_!” But Cas is completely confused, because Met is motioning towards them, while helping a bloodied Alastair sit up.

“He was _attacking_ Cas!” Dean is livid again, yelling over the others’ bewildered questions and Castiel numbly grabs onto the alpha’s shirtsleeve in fear of him going off again. Sam pushes past those in front of him until he’s able to reach his brother, looking as if he’s prepared to stand guard.

“That’s bullshit.” Alastair finally rasps out. He wipes a hand across his face but it does nothing to alleviate the bludgeoned look he carries. He spits out a mouthful of blood onto the concrete beside him before he continues, “That _damned_ Omega went completely hysterical on me. It was self-defense.”

“ _Self-defense?!_ ” The numb feeling disappears and fury once again replaces it. He starts to stand up, indignant, before Dean’s hands annoyingly push him back down. “ _You_ attacked _me!_ ” But the outraged yell does nothing to help his case and out of the corner of his eye, he sees several people watching him. His breath comes even faster.

Alastair looks flabbergasted and shakes his head up towards Ellen, who’s standing there looking lost and angry. “Are you going to trust _him_ over me?”

Sam finally speaks up, obviously agitated and slightly shaken. “Of course. Dean wouldn’t fight with you unless he had reason to!”

Met rebuts back with, “Yeah, because your hot-head of a brother _obviously_ has a spotless record.”

A middle-aged man steps forward from the group and stands closer towards Alastair. He crosses his arms, and though his words are clearly aimed at Ellen, he stares at Castiel.

“I’m assuming this is the same omega who, less than a week ago, tried to kill your daughter?” He calmly asks, before finally glancing towards the group of spectators. The murmured hums behind Ellen suddenly die down into silence and Castiel feels an uneasiness grow in his gut.

“Enough!” Ellen bellows, obviously affected by the touchy subject. She opens her mouth, but whatever she planned to say seems to get stuck in her throat. She looks back and forth between all the men staring expectantly at her and her mouth snaps shut. Castiel can almost see how it physically pains her to do so.

The man from before takes a step towards them and Dean stands up so fast that Castiel has no choice but to let go of him. The man tilts his head and meets eyes with him, though Dean actively seems to try and block his view. “Just what are we going to do with you?” The quiet words are addressed to him.

Sam is the first to respond, “ _Nothing_. Alastair’s the one who should be getting the third degree!”

Met pipes up again, trying to appear like he’s the voice of reason. “There’s been nothing but trouble since he’s come here. I think we should focus on the root of the problem, not what happened in the heat of the moment-”

“The _‘heat of the moment’_? He damn near drowned him!” Dean cuts him off.

“And you nearly bashed Alastair’s head in!-”

Azazel clears his throat loudly, and instantly Met quiets. He gives Ellen a pondering look, and Castiel gets the feeling that he holds as much power over this camp as she does. “Perhaps it’s finally time that the omega left the camp.” He more suggests than asks and as soon as Castiel sees Ellen sigh, he knows that he’s had enough.

He stands up, trying to do so as steadily as possible. “My name is Castiel.” He grits out evenly. “Not _omega._ ”

Azazel ignores him and once again looks towards Ellen and the group. “I can take him now if that’s best.”

“You’re not going anywhere near him, Azazel.” Dean growls out and Castiel nervously looks at Dean’s back, can see the way he keeps clenching his hands. He’s preparing for another fight.

“I’m not so sure you’re in the right state of mind right now to be making any decisions.” Azazel gives Dean a pitiful gaze. It’s condescending.

“Watch me.” Dean growls lowly. Cas can see the way Sam nervously glances between his brother and Azazel. He can also spot the way that Azazel squares his shoulders, his stance slowly beginning to mirror Dean’s.

“Stop this nonsense.” Ellen finally voices her annoyance. She walks forward to step between the two and faces Dean, Sam, and Cas. “I think the best way to deal with this situation right now is to let everyone calm down. Nothing is going to get solved tonight if you just sit here yelling at each other.”

“Was I yelling?” Azazel scoffs out a low chuckle and glances over his shoulder to Met and Alastair. Neither of them looks very amused.

Ellen’s back is turned to him, so he can’t see the annoyed grimace she gives like they can. “Dean.” She addresses the young alpha with a somber attitude. “What do you expect to happen now?” She looks remorseful, and gives the smallest of helpless shrugs. “What can I do?”

Cas steps to the side, just enough to watch the alpha’s face as he contemplates her words. Castiel’s thoughts scream, _‘Anything! Do anything! Why is this even a question?! I did nothing wrong!’_ But his mouth stays shut. The entire group is watching them, as if waiting for either Dean or Castiel to go berserk and he’s disheartened to know that Dean can see their stares all the same. Betrayal flashes across Dean’s face before bitter resentment replaces it. “Fine. You want him gone? That’s fine with me.”

Castiel feels a confusing lump lodge in his throat. He had hoped that if anyone here would remain on his side, it would be Dean. Just as he begins to panic by what exactly the definition of ‘gone’ could mean, Dean is turning towards him and motioning towards the door. “Let’s go.” His expression is hard and his words are even.

Castiel gives a bewildered glance to Sam, who only returns it with a similar fever. Not knowing what else to do, he begrudgingly follows Dean’s orders and shakily walks towards the doorway. The group parts before him like a tide and he recognizes several familiar faces, but none that he feels comfortable enough with to seek guidance from.

He’s nearly out the door when he hears Jess of all people speak up with a near-pleading tone. “Dean, where are you going?”

He glances behind him and is inwardly grateful to see Dean on his heels, instead of some stranger. He skims the crowded room one last time before he catches Alastair’s battered eye. The slimy bastard wears a cocky grin as he spits on the ground again, before he gives Castiel a lewd wink.

Dean doesn’t glance back, but he shrugs and calls out a simple, “We’re leaving.” Before he grabs Castiel, who’s gone rigid, by the arm and steers him out of the room.

Castiel forces himself to tear his eyes away from the infuriating sight, and instead focuses on the tight grip the alpha has on his arm and the ticking of Dean’s jaw. They make it down the hallway and around the corner before Dean finally meets his gaze. The stony look remains for a few seconds before the tension in the alpha’s shoulders finally begins to recede and his facial expression softens. He let’s go of his grip and Dean gives him a short apologetic frown, motioning him to continue forward. After a few seconds, Dean mutters, “We should hurry. We need to get out of here before those dicks decide to change their mind about letting us go.”

“Dean, Cas!” They both jump at the sound of someone behind them, but as soon as they recognize Sam’s voice they relax. He rounds the corner and doesn’t wait for Dean to say a word, “Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you at the jeep.” And he’s gone, jogging down the hall at a light pace.

Dean once again glances sideways to him as they walk again. “You ready?” He calmly asks.

Cas nods and that would be it, except for some odd reason one of Anna’s old favorite quotes chooses that moment to run through his mind. _‘You don’t get many chances to pay back what’s been done for you. Take them.'_

He swallows down any trepidation he’d been holding towards the alpha besides him and quietly returns; “I’ve been ready since the day you saved me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote is from Woody Hayes.


	15. A new dawn, an old memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, unbeta'd and much of it has barely had a read-through so if there's anything off or messed up, feel free to comment on it.
> 
> Keep in mind: At one point when “old values” are mentioned, it’s meant more in a no-sex-ed, no ‘progressive’ lessons, type of thing. Not in the “old values” kind of way that’s written in every A/B/O out there.  
> In this ‘verse, remember that A/B/O as a concept in which nobody really knows _that much_ on. Only whatever is taught in each school. Which will hopefully make sense as you read.

*

 

It’s a silent struggle to keep up with Dean’s quick pace, but he tries his best despite the unsteadiness he can still feel in his gait. His head is dizzy, and he can feel the beginnings of a headache forming. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he begrudgingly follows on Dean’s heels in a poor imitation of a lost puppy. There are no belongings for him to collect, nothing to sort through, … the only unfinished business he would be leaving behind is…

He pauses in Dean’s doorway, watching as the other rushes around his room, haphazardly stuffing things into a duffel bag as he goes. “…Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean doesn’t stop; he’s clearly fuming with the way he slams open a drawer and pulls out a handgun, forcefully shoving a loaded clip in. Castiel grimaces uncomfortably as the alpha tosses it into the bag. 

“What about Balthazar?” 

“What about him?” Dean grumbles, scowling. 

Castiel falters, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “We can’t just…I can’t leave without at least asking if-” He cuts himself off again and chastises himself. He’s costing them precious time. “I can’t leave without at least saying goodbye.” 

His odd embarrassment is only reinforced when Dean finally pauses his movements, throwing him an incredulous look over his shoulder. He can understand why. After everything that just occurred, is seems like such a miniscule issue to focus on. All he has ever asked for is to leave, and now he’s asking for something that will prolong their departure. But, …“Dean, he’s the only person left from my life before, that I know for certain is still alive. After we leave…” He trails off, feeling a deep-seeded loneliness he hadn’t realized was there, rising to the surface. He wants Balthazar to choose to come with them, but he knows it’s a far-stretched idealization. While Bal has always been there for him, always been a main pillar of support for him; Balthazar also values self-preservation. Castiel can’t guilt him into leaving a camp where he’s found renewed protection. He can’t jeopardize his best friend’s safety. 

But he can at least give Balthazar the chance to decide for himself. 

Dean eyes him for a long moment, looking disgruntled. Then his shoulders sag and he sighs. “Yeah, I get it.” Dean takes one last glance around his room, zips up his bag, and nods towards Cas. “Then let’s hurry.” 

Cas hums an agreement and turns from the doorway, only to stumble sideways as a wave of vertigo hits him. He instinctively grabs for whatever solid surface is next to him, and jumps when it turns out to be Dean, steadying him by the elbow. 

Dean’s eyes are concerned, his lips pressed into a hard line. “Are you okay?” 

Cas nods and pulls away. “I’m fine, just a bit dizzy.” 

“Did you hit your head?” Dean asks lowly, even asking about it making his ire rise again. Cas can relate.

“You could say that.” 

Dean’s jaw clenches, but he nods. “You should be careful, you might have a concussion.” 

“Terrific.” 

They continue to walk across camp, Dean leading the way to Balthazar’s room, though Castiel doesn’t fail to notice that he walks closer to him now than he had before, like he’s waiting for Castiel to drop like a bag of rocks. It takes a lot of energy to resist pointing out that he’s not that fragile. It also takes a lot of energy to walk. 

He spots a face or two down the hallways as they pass, strangers that he doesn’t personally know, but does recognize them as spectators from the fight. No doubt finally going back to bed. Dean seems to actively ignore them. 

“Where has that fucker been, anyways?” Dean mutters distractedly as they round a corner. 

Castiel wonders that himself. “Bal brought me to the kitchen this morning, but he didn’t stick around for very long. I haven’t seen him since.” It irks him still, the way Bal had so promptly left him alone to fend for himself.

Sam appears from around a corner just as they reach an area where three hallways meet. Dean nods to the right of them, to the empty hallway. “His door is the third one on the right. If you’re getting him to come with, make it fast.” Dean’s already walking forward to meet Sam halfway but Cas grabs his arm.

“You’re sure?” The last thing he wants to do is walk in on another stranger of this camp. He’s had more than his fair share of confrontation for the day, probably for the next year. 

“I’ve only been living here since forever.” Dean barely holds back his frustration, obviously anxious to get out of there already. Cas lets him go, understanding that Dean probably needs his brother more than anything else right now and he’s not about to keep him from it. 

He tentatively knocks on the door -the third one on the right, he reassures- and listens for an answer. None comes but he doesn’t have time to be polite. He tries the door handle and when it turns, he edges it open, sniffing at the air for Balthazar’s scent. It’s still dim in the rooms due to the ungodly hour but even with the poor lighting, he can instantly tell that something’s not right. 

This is definitely Bal’s room, he can smell it, but the bed is empty. The covers are a tangled mess, just how his friend usually leaves them, but a bedside table is knocked over on its side, several items strewn across the floor. 

“Bal?” He doesn’t know why he speaks, it’s clear that he’s not here. He hesitantly enters; accidently crushing a Styrofoam cup under his shoe, spilled water still visible on the tiled floor. A slow turn around reveals nothing. 

 

*

 

“What part of ‘hurry’ don’t you understand?” Dean calls as he turns into the doorway of Balthazar’s room, Sam following right behind. He pulls up short though, seeing Cas standing alone in the middle of a wrecked, deserted room, appearing lost. “What happened?”

“You’re guess is probably better than mine.” Cas replies solemnly. 

Dean glances at Sam, who’s frowning deeply. Dean doesn’t know what to say for a few seconds. “…Well, what do you want to do?”

Cas is still dejectedly looking at the objects scattered across the floor, like he’s waiting for something to stick out to him. “…There’s not much of an option, is there?” Castiel quietly asks. “We don’t have time to search for him.”

“No, we don’t.” Sam says, “Especially if you want to leave before somebody comes to try to talk us out of it.” 

Castiel clearly isn’t happy about it. But he takes a deep breath, exhales, and nods nonetheless. “…Can I have my machete back?” 

 

-

 

“So…” Dean finally breaks the tense silence, glancing in the rearview mirror. “You wanna’ tell us what happened back there?” The three of them are in one of the jeeps, Dean driving, Sam riding passenger, and Cas in the back. 

“I’m not exactly sure.” Cas murmers, staring out of the window, watching the horizon as the sun slowly begins its assent. 

“You have to give us more than that, Cas.” Sam says, and Dean agrees.  
He sees Cas meet Sam’s frowning gaze in the side-mirror. “I had… a bad dream, and went for a walk. I ran into Alastair and Lilith, and Alastair convinced me to go to the laundry room with him. It was fine at first, but then he started asking me about, I don’t know, about staying in a large camp. He was acting odd and when I told him I didn’t want to discuss it with him, he became very …aggressive.” His expression is grim as he continues, “I’m probably partly to blame but, it just escalated so quickly. And Dean saw the end result.” He finishes lowly. 

Sam grimaces and looks to Dean, who scowls. “You could say it was a bit more than ‘aggressive’.” Castiel just hums. Dean watches him, sees the way in which finally being ‘outside’ doesn’t even seem to faze him. He feels another small stone of bitterness settle into the already heavy pile residing in his stomach. He decides to let the subject drop for the moment. 

They had decided to take the same jeep they had arrived in, since it was the one that they’d left Castiel’s weapon-of-choice in. Castiel is still upset about leaving without speaking to Balthazar, which the Winchesters can understand. Something had obviously happened in that room and now it’s a mystery that may never be solved. Well, perhaps it could be in the future, as Sam had already confessed that he had told Jess and Ellen that he wasn’t leaving for good. That he’d come back as soon as things had settled down. Dean has a strong suspicion that the promise had been made in the plural sense. 

“We should have stopped and traded off this piece of junk for Baby.” Dean comments after awhile to Sam, who huffs a chuckle. 

“And have you try to deafen us with those old cassettes? Yeah, I think I can manage without.” 

Dean acts appalled. “They are classics, and you should be honored to hear them.”

“Baby?”

Dean meets Cas’ inquisitive eyes through the rear-view and grins. “67’ Chevy Impala. The best wheels to ever grace these roads.” 

Cas slightly tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “You have another car?”

Sam turns around in his seat to smile at him. “Careful. If you ‘offend’ the impala, then Dean may just leave you on the side of the road.”

“Damn right.” Dean quips. He can feel the tautness of his muscles relaxing a bit as he talks about one of the few things he still has from home. “Dad gave it to me a few years back. It’s been hell to maintain the keep-up, especially with me hiding her a few miles outside camp, but she’s still in near-perfect condition, if I do say so myself.”

“Half of the windows are smashed in and the inside smells like musk.”

Dean scowls at his brother. “I said _near_ -perfect condition, you ass.” He looks back at Cas, who has a small ghost of a smile on his lips. “Do you _know_ how hard it is to find replacement parts for a masterpiece?” 

Sam snorts and Dean has a secret sense of achievement as Castiel finally give a real, albeit small, smile. 

“I’d like to see it one day.” Castiel says quietly. His smile wilts a bit. “If we travel through this way again.”

“Trust me, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving her behind. If you’re with me next time I drive by her hiding spot, I’ll shake off the tarp and give you a spin.” He grins. That is, until he spots his brother giving him an odd sideways look. “What?”

Sam snaps his gaze away and shrugs. “Nothing.”

 

It’s quiet for a minute until Cas speaks up again. “I’m tired. Is it alright if I take a nap?” 

Dean’s says “We’re not going to stop you.” At the same time as Sam says, “Not if you might have a concussion.” 

He blanches a little, embarrassed that he’d forgotten. He’s thankful that he’d mentioned it to Sam. 

Castiel is frowning, but he’s not arguing. 

“How about you tell us something. Talk to keep yourself awake, you know?” 

“I’m not sure what I could talk about.”

Dean gives a half-shrug. “Anything. We still have a bit of a drive ahead of us.” They wait for a quiet moment and when he spots Castiel still frowning in the back, he tries to give a little push. “You could tell us about yourself, I guess?” But he gets the feeling that that would be uncomfortable for Cas. He thinks again, but the only thing that really pops into his brain is, “Or you could tell us about your sister, if you’d like.”

Castiel’s frown is replaced by soft surprise. “You want to hear about Anna?” 

Dean shrugs and Sam turns in his seat to give Cas an encouraging smile. “I wouldn’t mind hearing about her. Especially if we’re going searching for her. Of course, you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

The car is beginning to heat up with the morning sun starting to beam down on them, so Dean half-rolls down the windows while he waits for Cas to make a decision. 

 

“Anna is… she’s the bravest person I know.” Castiel starts. He’s looking down and nervously picking at a piece of skin on his fingers. “She’s tall and skinny, like me, but you can tell that she’s very comfortable in her own skin. She has long red hair, though it’s not nearly as vibrant as it used to be when we were kids. I’ve been told before that that’s the only trait I never inherited from mother.” Castiel bites at his lip, seemingly unsure about whether he wants to discuss the topic. 

“She flew across the country to be with me when the virus began to break out, before it became unmanageable. Before that, I had barely seen her since before grade school. I don’t really remember when my family had moved to America, but I do remember the day when my parents had shipped me off to a private school on my own. I don’t think I really understood what was happening, but I do remember that she cried quite a bit.”

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the somber tone to Cas’ voice. “What kind of private school?” He tries to redirect the topic . 

“It’s one of the few schools left where they separately taught students according to what they presented as.” 

Dean has a split second of confusion before he grasps the concept, about the same time that Sam does. “I didn’t realize that those still existed.” 

Sam speaks up before Castiel has the chance to, “Are you talking about ‘Haven for Youths’?” Sam questions and Castiel nods. Dean gives his brother a questioning look. “I’ve heard of it before. It’s that really old establishment up in the hills of Garrison County, right? Someone told me before that they’re really old-school, with really strict teaching.”

Castiel nods again. “They carry on a lot of old time values, but it’s not… it wasn’t as bad as it used to be. I know it was one of the few remaining institutions that had been originally created back when people were separated by their inborn class. When I attended, however, it only meant that we were separated after puberty into either the ‘beta’ or ‘omega’ buildings. It was more for show than anything else. We just had ordinary- albeit extensive- lessons with very stern teachers, but at meals and after classes the students from both buildings were allowed to spend time together. That’s how Balthazar and I became so close.” He smiles faintly, “we always ate meals together.” 

His smile begins to dim. “My parents are… they were, well off and the school promised a well-rounded education for all who attended. My sister is a few years older than me and by the time we moved to this country, my parents had already labeled her as “rebellious” by their standards, and hadn’t wanted her tendencies to ‘rub off’ on me. So I was sent to the boy’s school, and she was sent across to the other side of the Country, to the girl’s school.”

“That sucks.” Dean comments lamely. 

Cas nods. “I still kept in close-contact with her through phone calls and e-mail, but as I said, the first time we spent more than just a few days in each others presence was after break out. The students weren’t allowed to watch television, but Anna informed me when the first reports started appearing on the news channels. Two months later, she and her friend Gabriel were on the school’s front door-step and so many others had already left for home that they never even attempted to make them leave. I wouldn’t have let her if they did.” 

Sam and Dean are quiet in the front as Castiel talks. Dean feels more than a twinge of sympathy for him. It must be hell to have finally gotten reconnected to his sister, just to have her ripped out of his life again. “…And, is that where we’re headed?...The school?” It only makes sense, as the city they’d encountered Castiel in was the main section of Garrison County. 

Castiel’s demeanor is subdued as he affirms. “Yes. Or at least, what’s left of it.” His words are clipped.

Sam’s the one to finally ask the pressing question. “If you don’t mind me asking, …can we know what happened? To your camp?” He’s quick to add, “Don’t feel pressured, Cas. You don’t have to tell us anything that you don’t want to. We’re already headed there either way.” 

Dean guiltily swallows down the spark of eagerness he can feel rising. He does have a secret, dying-curiosity to know the answer as well. He still has no idea how a kid like Cas, and yes he knows that Castiel is only a few years younger than him, had gone from living in some prestigious, shiny academy,- to slumming it in a death-match in Croatoan paradise. 

After an uncertain moment, Castiel sums up the energy and slowly begins. “…When the virus had clearly begun to spread out-of-control, we had opted to stay behind at the school and play out the situation by ear. All of the airports were shutting down and our parents still lived hours away. A week after we had made the decision, the phone lines to my parents’ area went down. We never heard from them again.” 

Dean can’t bring himself to meet Castiel’s dull gaze. That hits closer to home than either of the Winchester’s were willing to admit. 

“There were only a handful of us that remained at the school. Gabriel, Anna, I, Balthazar, Samandriel, Bartholomew, Zachariah…” He begins to list the names out on his hand but soon shakes his head, stopping. “My bunkmate, Uriel, had stayed behind as well for a short while. He had told me that we would both ‘stick it out’ together until the disease had been eradicated. A few days later though I had woken up to find his bed empty.” He sighs. “And since Dr. Zachariah was the only staff left, he decided to take charge. We hadn’t really planned it to be, but it eventually turned into our ‘camp’, which was a term we’d only learned through the radio after the television broadcastings had stopped.”

“We were kind of stagnant, I expect. The world was rushing by and we only heard of the chaos through whatever Zachariah had managed to gather from his outside contacts. At first, I remember Anna and Gabriel constantly bickering over whether or not we should leave, but as the outside contacts became fewer and fewer, we decided it was probably for the best not to. The school grounds were large, and surrounded by an iron-gate fence and several miles of woods. Zachariah preached that there was probably no safer place to be. 

“And he was right, for a very long time I suppose. Over many months, we resided inside the main building and worked on boarding up the outside. We kept up with the small gardens on the grounds. All the while, we heard the occasional report over the radio lines- that things were only continuing to worsen. After some time, the reports turned into the occasional voice, surprised to find us on a radio wavelength. Some asked for sanctuary, but Zachariah, for some reason I could never truly fathom, was completely against the idea of letting our whereabouts be known.

“Zachariah said that he’d began to hear stories of people arriving at unsuspecting shelters, only to hurt the residents and pillage their supplies. The radio was Zachariah’s and for the most part he kept it in his room, so there wasn’t much reason to question his judgment on it.” Castiel turns and presses his forehead to the windowpane, closing his eyes. 

“Eventually a group of large men found our camp. They had guns and we couldn’t exactly turn them away. They worded it like it was a request, but they more so demanded to stay. Zachariah agreed, under the premise that they would help provide protection and security, and in return we would share our accommodations and small food supply.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t work out too well.” Dean mutters.

Castiel bites on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “They managed to hold up their part of the bargain for a good amount of time. And, after spending so much time with only the remaining few of us, it was actually kind of nice to have new faces to talk to. They knew so much more about what was going on on the outside. They told us about all of the havoc they had seen. Eventually, they pressed the issue that certain people, seemingly those who were omega, appeared to be getting killed off quicker than others. Anna had told me later when we were alone, that she thought they were lying. She didn’t trust them. She thought that they were only telling us that to keep us afraid, so that we would want to keep them there more. 

“I believed her. Especially when after awhile, they were no longer strangers in _our_ camp, as we were the extras that seemed to be taking up space in _their_ new camp.” He frowns bitterly. “Zachariah said that he had heard something similar mentioned once over the radio weeks prior, but had never thought anything of it. Bartholomew believed them. He had zero interest in even discussing the topic of leaving. He favored having the strangers there really, he hated that we had no real weapons to protect ourselves with. Sometimes I think that he viewed them as our secret saviors.” Castiel scowls. 

Dean stays silent in the front, listening intently to his story. He had assumed at first that Castiel would answer Sam’s question with a terse, short response, like he usually does. This, however, is definitely the most he’s ever heard Castiel speak at one time, and he’s caught off guard by the overwhelming resentment he can hear blanketing every word. 

“If it makes you feel any better, we recognized that also.” Sam comments quietly, “That everyone who’s presented as Omega seems to be disappearing. At least faster than the others are.” Dean can tell that, while Sam is trying to stay respectful to Castiel’s circumstance with his forlorn tone, that the topic piques his interest. 

“Why on earth would that comfort me?” Castiel snaps back, tone harsh. Sam’s taken aback by the sudden remark. Castiel seems to realize this and he inhales a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “Apologies. I know you mean no ill intent. But…most of the people I was close to before break out were omega.” Which isn’t surprising, considering the private-school thing and all. “…Anna’s omega.” He adds quietly, dejectedly. 

Sam nods in understanding, but his jaw is set. Like he’s unsure on whether to comment again or not.

Dean doesn’t want the conversation to turn awkward and silent, so he interjects, “We don’t know why though, which is frustrating as hell. Either it’s all some kind of fucked’ up happenstance, or they’re systematically being killed off.”

“…I’ve been wondering for awhile now if, perhaps, Croatoans are attracted to them more than anyone else.” 

Castiel watches as Dean raises an eyebrow at his brother. “What, like moths-to-a-flame, kinda’ thing?” Sam nods slowly. “We’ve had them in our camp before though. It may have been a while ago, but they disappeared so slowly we barely realized it was happening until they were practically gone. I don’t ever remember seeing a Croatoan _deciding_ to attack one person over another.” 

Sam hesitates, glancing back at Cas through the side-mirror again. “Well, yeah. But that was before we really started recognizing the effects of our biology reverting.” Dean is still confused, so Sam shrugs and adds,” I’m not sure, but maybe that has something to do with it. Maybe there’s some extra factor in the mix that we didn’t get to see before they’d all left or were killed.” 

“…What kind of factor are you referring to?” Castiel asks, eyes squinting in confusion. 

Sam runs a hand through his shaggy hair while he thinks for a moment, then responds, “I’ve been trying to read up on how the different classes played a role in every-day living before the government took control of it. It’s hard to find accurate information, because most of it just rephrases the same old things we were taught in school, which doesn’t help at all. All of the information is very simple and really biased.” 

‘Of course they are.’ Dean thinks.

“But then I found out that Met used to be a researcher for one of the companies that made the anti-hormone chemicals, so he knows more about it than most people can ever dream of.”

“Wait, Seriously?” Dean interrupts and when Sam nods offhandedly Dean responds, “How the hell did I not know about this?” 

Sam frowns at him. “Because you refuse to talk to anyone in the camp that _‘you get a bad vibe from’._ ” 

“So what the hell are you doing talking to him?” 

Sam rolls his eyes and ignores him. “The point is, no matter how annoying you find him, he has a lot of knowledge on the subject. We’ve had a few discussions about it before. He thinks that the Croatoan virus might be some ‘off variant mutation’ or something that’s linked with the type of over-aggression that I guess used to be found in some Alpha’s way back when. Like maybe it started out as some type of testosterone-based research experiment that went horribly wrong.” 

“ _’Experiment gone wrong._ ’ Well, if that doesn’t just sound _completely_ original.” 

“However cliché it sounds, it makes more sense to me than any of the other theories I’ve heard.”

Dean’s glowering at him, but he is courteous enough to at least think about it.

Sam glances back at Cas, trying to keep him in the conversation. “I mean, it’s not like his word is the end-all-be-all, but it would be a plausible way to explain why certain people are getting killed faster. Supposedly, Alpha’s smell Omega’s more sharply than anyone else. So if the Croatoan-virus is alpha-based, then-”

“Sam.” The younger brother pauses, confused by the pointed stare Dean’s giving him. He glances towards the back and feels a flash of guilt when he spots the miserable expression Castiel wears. 

Gently, Sam says, “…I’m sorry, Cas. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Castiel blinks up at them, caught off guard by the attention suddenly being on him again. “It’s fine.” He automatically responds, looking away. A second passes before he frowns, and then scowls. “Actually, it is not fine. None of this is fine. How could it be, when you’re telling me that…that this _disease_ is probably not only man-made, but puts the odds completely against me. Against _Anna._ How is she supposed to stay alive if… if-” His fists clench in his lap. He’s angry, but he has nobody to direct it at. His thoughts are stuck on the frightening idea of his sister fighting to stay alive in the midst of these _monsters._

“Cas, it’s like Sam said, there’s no real fact behind any of it. It’s all just theory. If you managed to stay alive in the City of all places, then there’s always a chance that she’s still out there too.” It’s a small consolation, but it’s all Dean has to offer right now. 

Castiel doesn’t respond for a few minutes. He’s obviously thinking, and neither of the Winchesters feel it’d be appropriate to continue discussing the topic if Castiel is upset by it. But after awhile, Castiel gloomily responds, “There could be some truth to it, I suppose.” 

They don’t say anything as they wait for him to continue. 

“As I was mentioning before, everything in my camp was fairly fine for quite awhile. There were disagreements here and there, of course, but things only started to take a turn for the worse when Bartholomew got sick.” 

“Sick?”

Castiel nods. “Or at least, that’s what I thought it was at first. Something along the lines of the flu or the common cold. I don’t know how long it took for it to become noticeable, because by that point Bartholomew was spending more time with the strangers than he did with us. One night he was eating dinner with us, the original members from the school, and he just… he didn’t look very well. He was sweaty and feverish, and when we asked what was wrong he just said that he felt under-the-weather. Anna tried to convince him to stay in the rooms nearest us, so she could watch over him until he felt better, but he refused. By this point, the food was running low and tensions were rising. I think we were all starting to catch cabin-fever and the line between the new members and old had been redrawn. Bartholomew enjoyed the other’s company, and I think Zachariah had decided that it was wiser to stay on their good side than to side with us anymore. It was seven of them against Balthazar, Samandriel, Anna, Gabriel, and I.”

Castiel frowns at the memory. “He got worse over the next two days and then he was just… not there. He stayed hidden in his room, supposedly too tired to leave it. I think we all just sort of came to terms with the idea that he’d rather have the others care for him than us. A few days later though, I woke up in the middle of the night to hear yelling. When I came downstairs, Anna was livid, and Balthazar was holding her back while she screamed at one of them.” 

“We found out that night that Bartholomew had been… he was dead.” He takes in a short breath, feeling nauseas thinking about it. When he glances up, he sees Dean watching him, concerned. “My first thought was that a Croat had finally managed to breach the school building, but once I realized that that was not the case, I assumed he had passed away from the illness. I didn’t understand why Anna was _so_ angry. I thought she was only upset because he had died on their watch. When I asked Bal about it later though, he said that that wasn’t the case. He…hinted that Bartholomew had died in a violent manner, but he wouldn’t clarify on the subject any more, except that they were certain it was the strangers’ faults. He told me not to pass even that information on to Alfie, as he didn’t think he could handle it. Alfie was three years younger than I and to be honest, I think he’d developed a bit of an anxiety disorder. He was already having panic attacks whenever anyone raised their voices too loud. We both hated the conflict but he didn’t know how to handle it very well.”

“Is Alfie a nickname for Samandriel?” Sam asks for clarification.

Cas nods. “I knew I was missing some critical element to the situation but…Nobody would tell me what it was and it was hard to discuss the topic without risking Alfie becoming aware of how dangerous the situation was. Anna just made me promise her to stay as far away from them as possible. Of course I agreed, but it was all very frustrating to not know what was happening in my own camp, with my own peers. … especially when two weeks later, Anna started getting sick.” 

“The same kind of sick as Bartholomew.” Dean assumes.

Castiel nods. “For the first few days she was just overly tired. She’d get exhausted doing the same menial chores we’d been doing since the beginning of breakout. Then she started running a fever, which is when I began to worry. I could tell she was frightened, though she tried not to show it. Balthazar and Gabriel were antsy too. A week later, she decided to lock herself up in our room and told me that I had to stay with Balthazar and Gabe. I was bewildered and more than a little hurt when she expressed that I wasn’t allowed to go in and watch over her. Naturally, I tried to refuse. I dreaded the idea. But Gabriel was adamant that it was a private matter best left alone and that he would monitor her for me. 

“I still don’t entirely understand what was going on. None of us had caught any type of illness the entire time we’d been there, and suddenly everything was falling apart. Our food was continuing to dwindle, my friends were getting sick, I had to constantly watch over Alfie or risk him having another breakdown, and on top of all of this, the strangers were becoming more and more aggressive.”

“I don’t understand, why would anyone, let alone Anna, keep you in the dark?” Dean asks, disconcerted and confused by the idea. 

“That’s the question I keep asking myself.” Castiel frowns. “The entire week that Anna holed herself up in our room, the strangers continued to act less and less friendly. They were even fighting amongst themselves and I had no idea what to do to deal with the tense atmosphere between everyone when nobody was even willing to openly discuss the situation with me. I couldn’t even fool myself into thinking that I wasn’t terrified. I half-expected one of the alpha’s to finally lose-it any day and go on a killing rampage through the camp.”

“Were all of the strangers Alpha’s?” Sam interjects and Castiel pauses.

“Perhaps. I never spent much time near them. There could have been a beta or two, but I only ever smelled alpha when they were nearby.”

“And Bartholomew? …was he Omega?”

“Why?” Castiel tenses, sending Sam a puzzling frown. Dean doesn’t like the direction Sam’s thoughts seem to be heading in either. 

“Just…wondering.” 

Castiel isn’t dumb. He’s hesitant to say it but he indulges him. “Bartholomew, Samandriel, Anna, and I are Omega. Zachariah, Bal and Gabe were Beta.”

“I see.” 

“ _Why?_ ” Castiel asks again, more adamantly.

Sam shakes his head. “Finish telling us what happened. I’ll tell you my thoughts after.” 

Castiel glowers, but Dean can see the cogs in Cas’ head turning. Like he’s catching on to something he’d never thought of before. 

Castiel’s next few words are slow, as if he’s trying to figure something else out for himself even while he speaks. “Eventually Anna began feeling better. She came out of hiding and told me that whatever it was, wasn’t as bad as she had feared. She just had to sweat it out. The tension never went back to how it had been before. The strangers seemed more on edge than ever and finally; my group of friends had decided that it was time to finally begin manufacturing some type of plan to leave. In hindsight, it probably would have been best if we had just grabbed what we could and ran, but the fact that it felt like we were escaping… we were too hesitant in actually putting the plan into action. We had zero ideas on where we would go or do once we left the school grounds. 

“Then two weeks later,” Castiel tries to swallow down the anxiety he knows is creeping into his voice, but it’s to no use. “I started feeling off.”

“You?” Dean interrupts, voice two octaves higher than he’d meant to be. He’s staring at Cas with wide alarmed eyes and Castiel has to look away.

“I don’t think it got as bad as the others. Or at least not as bad as Bartholomew. I was just having a hard time concentrating, and then I realized that I was starting to get out of breath while gardening. I didn’t wait to tell Anna and Bal. I didn’t want to be a burden when we decided to leave camp if I was about to come down with the same illness as them. 

"Anna tried to act like it wasn’t a major concern, but I could tell that she was terrified, which didn’t exactly calm my nerves. When I started to run a fever, she told me to go upstairs to our room and not come out. I was too tired and confused to fight with her, so I did.” Castiel’s voice is quiet and he’s rubbing the fabric of his pants back and forth between the fingers of his good arm. 

Dean gulps down the confusing trepidation he feels building. He didn’t like what Castiel was saying before at all, but hearing that Cas himself had experienced what Dean feared he had, makes his heart rate kick into double time. 

When Sam and Dean meet eyes they both wear similar expressions of apprehensive dread. Dean unquestionably knows that they both are thinking the same thing. And the fact that Castiel seems to be nearly clueless about what he may be describing makes his stomach turn over. 

“I continued to feel worse over the next two days. The hours started to almost blur together until the second night, I overheard more yelling. Balthazar came into my room and locked the door and when I asked what was happening, he only told me to stay quiet. Then I realized that I could hear Anna and Gabriel yelling with at least a few of the strangers, and that they must’ve been right outside the door, it was so loud. I remember trying to get out of the room, so that I could be at Anna’s side, but Balthazar kept trying to keep me back. It’s the only time I remember ever getting into an actual fight with him but we …got physical. I don’t blame him, he was only trying to keep things from escalating, but… when I finally got the door unlocked Balthazar yanked me away as hard as he could. I knocked into a dresser, which caused a candle to fall over. The curtains caught on fire.” Castiel’s mouth snaps shut and he closes his eyes tightly, the grief of the incident becoming momentarily overwhelming. “I started the fire that caused the school to burn.”

The engine of the jeep and the slight wind rushing past the windows is all that’s heard for a few minutes until Dean quietly responds, “It wasn’t your fault.”

Castiel shakes his head, not wanting to hear it. “The curtains lit up in an instant, and before me and Bal could even try to put it out the ceiling had started to catch. We ran out of the room. I don’t exactly remember what happened directly after, but the next thing I knew, Bal, Anna, and I were in the kitchen and were planning on leaving through the back door. Gabriel was somewhere trying to collect bags that they had previously began packing for our departure. There was yelling everywhere and the house was becoming very hot. Somehow, we had forgotten about Samandriel in all of the chaos until we heard him yelling from upstairs. Anna ran out of the room before I could stop her.” He grimaces, expression pained. 

“Balthazar told me to wait, that it would only make things worse if we all split up. Then one of the strangers, I think his name was Ben or something, I don’t know, but he was in the kitchen screaming at us. He was furious and probably seconds from getting violent but then another one of them came in and tried to get him to calm down. It didn’t really work, but he kept saying that we should all leave together. That if we hurried and left before we all drew attention to the school, that they would protect us, that they could help us. Balthazar and I refused. I wanted to go and search for Anna because the fire was spreading and I could hear the support beams of the school cracking, but Balthazar got into the man’s face and then they were fighting. I panicked and grabbed a metal pot, as it was the closest thing by me, and…” He realizes that he’s getting short of breath, the memory of the panic coming to the forefront of his mind. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to slow his racing mind. 

Both Dean and Sam are quiet, too engrossed in the tale to want to interrupt before hearing the ending. Castiel feels a detached sort of determination. If he was able to tell this much, than he can finish the story. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he believes that this feeling must’ve been similar to what Dean had felt when he had confided in him Madison’s tale. 

“I hit him in the back of the head. Hard enough that we could all hear the crack of it and he was knocked out instantly. The other man ran. I panicked and ran to try to find Anna, even with Balthazar yelling at me the entire time. I didn’t get very far. The main entrance way was stifling and the stairs leading to the second floor were falling through. I didn’t know where to look for her or any of the others and I couldn’t hear anyone. Balthazar eventually convinced me that they must’ve gone out through a different way and we escaped back through the kitchen door. 

“I attempted to go to the front of the school right away, as that made the most sense to me of where she would go, but as soon as we made it to the side of the house, we met our first Croatoan.” He grimaces. “It was running out of the woods, heading straight for us. We could tell what it was because she was covered in blood and looked absolutely livid. Then two more appeared behind her. Me and Balthazar ran the opposite way, into the woods. The fire and smoke must’ve been a beacon of light to them in the darkness. Within minutes, Balthazar and I were separated. I only tried calling for him once, because when I did, I found myself running from even more Croatoans. 

“I wanted to turn back. I know I did. But I was a coward. I was too terrified to face those chasing me and I had no weapon to fight them off with. So I ran.” He finishes solemnly. 

Dean’s still trying to process it all and he has absolutely no inventory of comforting words that could even begin to quell the guilt and shame that he can smell coming off of Cas in overbearing waves. He rarely can smell emotions from anyone unless they’re tremendously apparent, but right now, Castiel’s scent is sour, almost rancid, and it’s dominating the small space of the vehicle. He wishes more than anything that he knew what to do to make that kind of pain go away. 

“I don’t know how long I ran for. I was still somewhat dizzy, but I was too afraid to really feel any of the affects of the illness. I eventually found an abandoned house, but I was too fearful to go inside, so instead I took shelter in the toolshed. Only one of the Croats had managed to keep up with me, and when they followed me in, I grabbed a machete off of the wall and, …well, they were the first Croatoan I killed. I stayed there for as long as I could, tried to wait out the last of the fever and stomach-aches I experienced, until I spotted a few more Croatoans slinking onto the property. Instead of staying, I ran again. When I saw a fence and tall buildings, I didn’t think my actions through. I automatically thought of shelter and protection, that perhaps I would find somebody who could help me. It was insanely senseless of me to be so thoughtless, but I found a gape in the fence and slipped through it. 

"I only realized when it was too late, that the fence wasn’t to keep Croatoans from getting in, but was instead to keep them from getting _out_. Which is when I got trapped in the city.” Castiel’s leans his head back and sighs. He’s drained. 

Sam and Dean kind of feel drained too just from listening to him. Sam is still giving him occasional side-ways looks, a _‘we’re going to have to tell him eventually’_ kind of look, and Dean doesn’t even want to contemplate bringing up the topic at the moment. He may not be nearly as knowledgeable in the subject as Sam is, but he has a strong feeling that the ‘illness’ Castiel keeps mentioning may be some version of the ‘heats’ he’d heard about once or twice before in school. 

But how could he even stay focused on that idea with Castiel looking so despondent in the backseat. He wishes there was a way to keep Cas from ever experiencing something so horrid ever again. He wishes he could tell Cas that that was even a possibility. But with the way things are right now, he knows that there’s probably still worse to come. How can you comfort someone when you know it would just be trying to put a band-aide on a gaping wound?

Sam stays quiet, just as much at a loss for words. Which Dean thinks may be what Castiel wants right now. Any consoling words at this point would probably be pointless. Possibly even come off as condescending, which is the last thing he wants to do. He knows that that’s how he felt whenever anyone had tried to comfort him when Sam was still missing. 

He turns down a long winding road and the sound of the gravel crunching under the tires makes him frown. He almost wants to turn the jeep around, to prolong what’s about to happen, but he knows it wouldn’t be fair.

He tries to clear the lump in his throat before he quietly comments, “I know this is terrible timing, but we’re almost there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much backstory yikes


	16. A Haven of Havoc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's a short update. But can we all take a moment to appreciate a record-breaking TWO updates in one week?  
> Yes, yes, I know. It's a miracle, really.

The black Iron Gate looks sort of menacing with the way it stands tall, contrasting against the bright blue of the morning sky. But one side of the entranceway is lying to the side, broken, and they pass through it without stopping. Dean can see a building off to the right, appearing slowly over the hill. He starts to turn onto a side-road that heads toward it but Castiel stops him. 

“No, stay on this road. That’s one of the old dorm rooms. The main building is straight ahead.”

Which Dean thinks he should have realized it wasn’t the correct building, because he doesn’t see any scorch marks on it. They continue up the hill until they reach the peak, which is when Dean is forced to nearly slam on the breaks or risk driving straight into a large pile of dark rubble that suddenly comes into sight.

“Wow.” Dean pretty much sums up all the words needed. Cas stumbles out of the jeep the second it comes to a complete stop and Sam and Dean take another moment to take in the scene. 

When they climb out of the vehicle Dean gives a low whistle, just loud enough for Sam to hear. “He wasn’t joking.” It’s obvious that it used to be a large building. Now only a few pieces of metal and wood remain standing upright, like a skeleton of a memory. 

They move forward slowly. It’s only once Dean’s a few feet away that he notices the way that Castiel’s hands are slightly shaking. He doesn’t have to see his face to know that he’s distraught by how barren and truly destroyed it really is. He still doesn’t really know what to say as he approaches closer, but when he hears Castiel’s breath coming in short gulps, he reaches out and hesitantly places a firm hand on his shoulder. Cas doesn’t jump from the contact like he usually does, instead he seems slightly calmed by the warm weight of it. 

“Cas?”

He shakes his head mutely, soaking in the image of it all.

Eventually, Castiel turns to him and gives him a sort of soft nod, before he walks forward. 

The clear day above them is an unsettling contradiction to the dark ash and rubble they begin sifting through. Neither Dean or Sam really know what they’re supposed to be looking for, but they indulge Cas in the idea that _something_ of note may have been left behind. Dean can already tell that it’s most likely a lost-cause, but he would feel like a complete ass if he did nothing while Castiel searches through the ruins of his old home. 

He kicks some of the burnt wood out of his path and when he spots Sam a few yards away picking through the debris with his hands, he wishes that he’d brought more hand rags with them. 

It’s slow work, and Dean keeps glancing at Cas out of the corner of his eye. He has to admit, he’s worried. Castiel’s trying to appear calm, and he’s not sure if it’s for the Winchester’s sakes or his own. Every now and then, Cas stops what he’s doing and just stands there in the midst of all the wreckage, and Dean has to wonder how well he’s really processing it. He looks adrift, lost. And in the small glance he’d given Dean before moving forward, he’d seen the way his eyes had dulled, recognized the familiar look of someone growing numb to a situation. 

He doesn’t exactly know where this deep-rooted sense of obligation came from. Why he feels like he’s so committed in helping Castiel get through this. He’s always been confident in knowing that he’s a compassionate person, that he enjoys helping people. But…it’s different this time. He can be empathetic, sure, but he’s always been efficient when it comes to separating himself from someone else’s pain. It’s kind of a necessity in today’s world. 

This time though… there’s an odd sense of …of responsibility. Like somewhere deep inside, not only does he want, he _needs_ to find a way to take some of Cas’ pain away. And he feels almost guilty for not knowing how. 

He’s known Cas for, what, less than a week? It almost feels like months now. When he’d first met him, his first impression was that Castiel was just some poor scraggily guy, another face to add to the growing camp. But then Castiel found ways to push nearly every button that Dean had barely realized he’d had. And he did it in a way that demanded respect, without ever over-pressing the issue. And, well, Dean’s not above admitting that he’d been surprised by how well Cas had cleaned up. He’s not that bad looking. 

Okay, Castiel is actually pretty attractive. It’s something he’s willing to confess inside his own head if he’s taking the time to be honest with himself. 

But besides that point, Cas is… he’s brutally honest. He’s independent, strong-willed, and though he doesn’t seem to realize it, he’s got a lot of courage. And yet, he’s conservative, careful with his words, and never really discloses what exactly is going on inside that head of his. He’s a conundrum that Dean keeps feeling himself drawn to figuring out. He can’t really remember feeling this way about anyone else in the camp.

He’s lost in his thoughts and it’s only when Dean sees something flash out of the corner of his eye that he realizes he’d stopped walking. He looks away from where he’d been staring at the source of his thoughts to search for the distracting shine. 

It takes a few moments before he sees the flicker of light again and he realizes that it’s coming from some small object near the surrounding woods. 

As he wanders closer he sees that the object is actually hanging on a tree, one of the closer ones that sets the boundary between field and forest. He picks his way out of the last of the rubble. There’s a clear line on the ground showing how far the fire had reached, where the black soot touches tall, flourishing, green grass. 

He’s only a few yards away when he recognizes the object as a necklace, glinting in the sunrays beaming down on it. He carefully lifts it from the nail holding it in place and inspects it closer. It’s a white, opaque stone with small pink roses painted on it, hanging off of a thin gold chain. It’s definitely jewelry more fitting a girl. He’s about to pocket it and move on when he realizes the significance of it. This was an all-male private school. 

It takes him less than a minute to reach the other two. Castiel has that distant, forlorn expression on again and Sam’s standing off to the side, awkwardly dusting off a cracked dinner-plate he’d found. Dean’s slightly out of breath when he reaches them but there’s an underlying excitement to his voice when he lifts his palm up and says, “Does this mean anything to you?” 

Castiel’s stare is confused for a second until he spots it. Dean can actually _see_ the spark of life that returns to his eyes as he surges forward to snatch it out of Dean’s palm. 

“This!- This is Anna’s! Where did you find it?!” Castiel is cradling it between his hands like something precious, like it’s something so fragile that the wrong move may break it. 

Dean lets out the breath he’d been holding in relief. “It was nailed to that tree over there. It’s not much of a sign, but it’s _something,_ right??” 

Castiel nods slowly, eyes shooting back and forth between Dean and the tree he’s pointing at. His sudden smile lights up his face in a way that makes Dean’s chest warm from the inside. And then he’s shooting forward and Dean’s caught off guard by the sudden crushing hug enveloping him. 

He freezes for a moment, awkwardly glancing at his brother over the other’s shoulder, who’s only shooting him a small, fond smile. It doesn’t take much thought at all to return the sentiment, though his grip in quite loose in comparison. 

After a minute, Castiel seems to find his composure and slowly pulls back. He’s staring at the necklace in his hand like he’s afraid that if he looks away, it’ll disappear. “Thank you, Dean.” He murmurs. 

Dean swallows and nods for a reply. If Castiel starts tearing up he doesn’t know what he’ll do. “It’s no problem. I just found it.”

“No, I really mean it.” There’s an emotion in his voice that Dean doesn’t think he’s heard from him before. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean scratches at the back of his neck and lamely nods again. 

Sam speaks up, “If she left that behind as a sign, then it probably means she had to wait until the next day to hang it there. If Croatoans were really showing up as quickly as you said, then I doubt she had enough time to nail it there that night.” 

Dean nods in agreement. “Which means she definitely made it through the night of the fire.” 

Cas is a mixture of relieved and excited. “I knew she couldn’t have died so easily. She’s too strong for that.” His demeanor is only continuing to lighten and Dean tries his hardest not to let any of his doubt show on his face. 

Dean knows that it’s still not any type of sure sign that she’s still alive. Proof that she made it through the first night isn’t proof that she’s made it through the weeks since. But Dean’s more than willing to let Cas have this small victory. “Think she’s smart enough to purposely put it on that side of the property? Like a signal that she decided to head in that direction?” 

Castiel glances around the area thoughtfully before he responds, “I can only hope so.”

 

*

When they had all climbed back into the jeep, they had an awkward, stagnant moment of ‘now what?’ They could head to the left, which is the side the necklace had been left on, but that’s also the way they had driven in from. It’s not like they could just expect her to suddenly appear on the side of the road if they backtracked the last two hours of driving. 

Cas doesn’t seem to be allowing himself get down by the fact that they don’t have any clues of where to go next. He’s letting himself sit with the joy of just knowing that she’s [allegedly] alive. 

Sam’s the first one to suggest that they at least try to be productive for the rest of the day, that they go and find the Gas-N-Sip they had originally planned to include on this trip, since they already drove all the way out here. It’s a thirty minute drive back the way they came and another hour and a half out west. 

Castiel shrugs at the idea. Dean’s stuck between the optimism of trying to find more supplies, and the pessimism of knowing that Sam will want to bring whatever they find back to the camp. 

He decides to say so once they’ve made the decision to go. They’re only about ten minutes in when he speaks up and Cas is already knocked out cold in the backseat, necklace still cupped in his palm. Dean doesn’t blame him. Cas hadn’t really gotten any sleep in the past 30 hours and those hours had been hectic, at best. 

“I promised Jess and Ellen that I would go back. At least to let them know that we’re all alive and that there’s no grudges between us.”

“No grudges my ass-”

“Dean.” Sam’s a little exasperated and he’s trying not to show it. “We both know that it wasn’t Ellen’s fault that it ended the way it did. If she had completely taken your side in that moment, without at least acting like she was taking Alastair’s side into account, it would’ve divided the camp. Even more than it already is. If the leaders start picking sides, than everyone else will too, and I doubt that would end anywhere close on a positive note.” 

Dean’s scowling. “I don’t _care_ how the camp takes it. Alastair deserves everything that’s coming to him. He was going to _kill_ Cas, Sam.”

“I don’t doubt you.” Sam replies quietly. “I want them to at least acknowledge how messed up it is that he’s still in our camp. I want him to be punished for how… _how_ -” he cuts himself off and the noise that comes out is closer to a growl than a groan. “He deserves _something_. Anything. …but I don’t know if it’s right to kill him. If we start deciding when to execute people ourselves then… where does the line stop? When do we decide that we’ve gone too far?”

“Jesus Christ, Sam. I’m not talking about _executing_. I just.” His fists clench around the steering wheel. “Something needs to be done.” 

It’s quiet for a few minutes until Sam finally says, “You were in a way though, weren’t you?” 

Dean stares at his brother, not understanding. 

“If nobody else had showed up, would you have stopped? I’m not below admitting that I was happy when I saw the state he was in. But that doesn’t change the fact that I saw him. Can you honestly tell me, with how mad you were, would you have stopped yourself before you killed him?” 

Dean doesn’t respond at first. He secretly thinks that if he did, Alastair still would have deserved it. But shouldn’t that still bother him? The knowledge that he probably wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse for killing another human being? 

“I honestly don’t know, Sam. I was so pissed off, I was seeing red. I wasn’t really thinking. I just… I saw him holding Cas down under the water, and Cas struggling, and that bastard was _smiling_. I didn’t really think much after that, I just reacted.” 

Sam nods, understandingly. “I’m not saying what you did was wrong. Cas might not be alive if you hadn’t have found them when you did. But if you had killed him before Met or any of the others found you, then there would’ve been repercussions. …I don’t really know if I’m ready to see the way the Camp would decide to split if it did. I don’t want to know how many people we would lose.”

Dean purses his lips and doesn’t comment. He’s actually kind of inclined to the idea of seeing which traitors in the camp would choose to stay with Azazel’s group over theirs. It might be a breath of fresh air to finally have everything out in the open, even if it meant the camp’s numbers would be cut in half.

His eyes trail to the rearview mirror that’s been adjusted so that he can keep an eye on Cas while he sleeps. He freezes for a moment when he realizes that Cas has one eye open, calmly staring back at him through the mirror. They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, both acknowledging that Cas had been listening in on the conversation, before Cas finally breaks it and turns over to face the opposite way. 

Dean brings his gaze back to the road. He contemplates what could be going through Cas’ mind right now. Is he only taking in the information as they say it? Or is he worried about if Dean will return and stay at the camp with Sam? That’s a question Dean’s still trying to figure out for himself. He’s beyond mad at his camp. But it is _his_ camp. And he’s doubtful that he’d ever truly leave if Sam is going back. He might be gung-ho for taking a break away from it all for a while, but is he willing to stay with Cas while he finds his sister, if it means being away from his brother? What if something happened while he was gone? What if he lost Sam again?

He glances at Castiel’s still form in the back once more. He may not be willing to leave his brother behind in any case, but …he’s also not sure if he’s willing to let Cas go off on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are like treats for my soul. :)


	17. Town of nowhere

The next hour passes in relative silence. The trees on either side of the road start to thin out until finally they can see the outlines of a few decrepit buildings in the distance. It’s the town, if it could even really be called a town, that they’d been searching for. It was so small that it wasn’t even listed on most of the maps they’d gathered, which is why they had a small hope that perhaps not everything had been looted. 

Once Dean starts letting off the gas, Sam reaches back and rustles Castiel awake. The way he grumbles incoherently and slouches groggily back into his seat once he sits up shows how exhausted he still is. Dean kind of wishes they’d woken him up sooner, because right now he doesn’t look anywhere near the level of alert needed for a raid. 

“We’re already there?” Cas rasps out, squinting angrily at the noon sun shining brightly through the windows. 

Dean pulls the car over and parks it at the curbside, before he turns in his seat to lightly slap at Cas’ knee. “Come on Birbiglia, time to show us what you’re made of.” He grins before he slides out of the car. Cas turns his tired, confused stare to the other Winchester, who only shrugs before getting out too. Castiel slips Anna’s necklace on and hides it underneath his shirt. He sighs, hangs his head for a moment, and then musters up all the energy he can find. 

He follows them to the back of the vehicle, where Dean hands him two empty gas cans tied to each other with a rope, and his machete. The familiar weight of it in his hand is a surprisingly comforting one. He hangs the rope across the back of his neck and he’s trying to wipe off the few flecks of dried blood still on his blade on the bottom of his shoe, when Dean suddenly shoves a gun into his hands. Castiel flounders with it for a moment before he grasps it limply in his hands. He looks up, confused. 

Dean’s giving him a serious look. “I can trust you with this, right? Nobody’s getting shot in the back today.” 

Cas has a mixed expression of hurt and being offended that Dean would even suggest the idea. “Of course not. But Dean-” 

“Good.” Dean cuts him off with a nod, a smile replacing the grim look from before. He closes the trunk door, swings an empty rucksack on his back, and nods to Sam. Sam finishes slinging a crossbow over his shoulder and returns the sentiment.

“Dean.” He calmly calls but Dean ignores him, probably assuming that Cas is about to comment on the accusation from before.

Dean’s carrying a similar rifle, has a large hunting knife secured near his waistband, and his usual handgun sitting in his thigh holster. Sam’s carrying Ruby’s knife, the crossbow, and Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if he had a gun or two hidden on him as well. 

Both of the brothers are turning to walk away when Cas speaks up again. “Dean!”

“What?” Dean snaps, turning back with a frown. He’s obviously antsy to hurry up and begin what they’d come here to do. 

Cas holds up the gun awkwardly in his good hand. “I’ve never shot a gun in my life.” 

Both of the Winchesters pause and share a look, before Dean shrugs. “Well, hopefully you won’t have to. And if you do, then let’s hope you learn quickly.” 

Castiel glowers at Dean’s back, because he’s already turned to continue on. “I can’t even use it correctly with my arm the way it is.” 

Dean calls back over his shoulder, “Don’t be such a baby!”

Cas’ frown turns into a straight-out scowl. He looks at the rifle still held loosely in his hand and scrunches his nose. He doesn’t care what Dean thinks, it’s not logical for him to carry a weapon that he’s not capable of using. He dislikes that he almost feels like a petulant child when he slides the rifle through the cracked open window before Dean can see. Once it’s nestled in the back seat he jogs to catch up with the others. 

Dean rolls his eyes when he spots that the gun is missing, but he doesn’t comment again on it. 

“Why didn’t we drive straight to the gas station?” He asks. 

Sam answers, “If there are any Croatoans in the area, we don’t want to attract all of their attention by driving through the town. There’s also a few other buildings that might be worth a look-through.”

The first place they search is a lone house situated between two small strips of vacant stores. They all wait outside while Dean puts an ear to the front door, listening. After a few seconds he gives them a nod and Cas is slow to keep up when Sam automatically flanks Dean’s side as he knocks the door open. They move with well-practiced efficiency, searching the rooms with weapons drawn. 

A single Croat appears around the corner of the living room and Sam is quick to land a killing blow. He chooses to stay behind in the kitchen and search through the cabinets while Dean motions to Cas to follow him upstairs. There’s nobody else in the house and it only takes a few minutes to figure out what’s worth taking. Dean snatches a can of fermented peaches from Sam’s hand when they reenter the kitchen and, ignoring his brother’s complaints, pops the top open. “What? I’m starving.” Sam begrudgingly takes the can when Dean finally passes it to him, and then it’s in Cas’ hand. He savors the taste as he downs the last of it. A few cans of soup and two packets of ramen are left to be thrown into Dean’s bag and then they’re leaving. 

Cas feels like they’re too out in the open as they walk down the empty street. There’s a few cars left haphazardly on the road and the majority of the store windows are smashed in. Patches of weeds are peeking through the cracked cement and Castiel tries to push down the underlying anxiety trying to creep in. This isn’t the city. The landscape may share a few similarities, but it’s nothing like before. It’s nearly silent as they walk and Cas finds himself remembering the lead pipe he had accidently kicked in the warehouse- the lone sound had been enough to destroy the peace he had found. 

He shakes his head a bit, forcing himself to orient himself to the here and now as he follows the Winchesters into a clothing store. 

“Sam, this isn’t exactly a necessity, is it?” Dean sounds nearly annoyed. 

“The girls have been getting on us about getting new clothes. Why not have a look around?” 

Dean shoots Cas a withering _‘Can you believe this shit?’_ look and comments, “We come all the way out here and all Sam can think about is shopping.”

Their conversation is interrupted when a Croatoan suddenly clambers forward from behind a shoe display. Sam barely turns in time to defend the attack, but he still makes it, knife sliding deep into the man’s ribcage. The Croat still angrily tries to claw at his face and Castiel shoots forward on instinct, swiping at the man’s neck. 

He feels nearly wired as the man quiets and falls to the side, the familiar rush of adrenaline starting to rush under his skin. When he glances back up though, he’s a little taken aback to see the brothers continuing forward as if nothing had happened. 

“Stop complaining, It will only take a few minutes.”

“Fine, but I’m not holding your purse.” 

He presses his lips at the flippant tone of the conversation, but after a long moment, decides that, in an odd way, it’s actually kind of reassuring. He cautiously steps around the dead man and tries to shake off his nerves. Staying calm is probably for the best, and he tries his best to follow the other’s lead. 

The store is a mess. Some of the clothes racks are lying on their sides. One of the tall shoe displays has been knocked over, forming an almost tent-like shape against another. As he passes, he notices a bloodstain creeping out from underneath. He doesn’t peek to see what the source is. 

Sam’s plucking a few blouses off a rack a few feet away and Dean’s wandering around, occasionally picking an item up off the floor, giving it a once-over, before discarding it haphazardly over his shoulder. It looks like most of the store has already been rummaged through, but there’s enough left to leave some options. 

Castiel is holding up a black shirt, trying to assess if it’s large enough to fit him when he hears Sam’s exasperated voice.

“Dean.”

He turns around and notices Dean holding up a large, dingy tan trench coat, one of the few articles still left on the clothes racks. He’s grinning playfully as he announces, “And on tonight’s news, local Croatoan flasher is still on the loose. Be weary of any potential suspects and report all suspicious activity to your local crime-stoppers.”

Sam snorts and turns away. Dean wiggles his eyebrows at Cas before he chuckles and tosses the coat back on top of the rack. 

They’re slowly making their way to the back of the store and Dean’s getting antsy to be on the move again. Clothes aren’t what they came here for. Their target destination is still sitting down the block and the potential gasoline is calling his name. 

When Dean glances back and sees Cas shrugging the trench coat on he blanches. “You’re not serious are you?”

With his chin tilted high, Cas says with a matter-of-fact voice, “It’s practical and will help when the winter cold sets in.” 

“but you can’t be _serious_ though-“

“Dean, stop messing around. Let’s go.” Sam calls from near the back doorway and with a disapproving shake of his head, Dean decides to begrudgingly let it go. He approaches his brother so the other can stuff the few items he’d deemed suitable into the rut sack. 

 

They’re about to move on when they hear Cas’ startled voice some ways behind them calling out, “H-hello?” They both freeze mid-step and whip their heads around.

Castiel is standing about fifteen feet away, cautiously staring down an isle between shoe racks, eyes wide. 

Dean’s feet are moving forward before he’s even done processing it. He glances towards the ceiling and sees a rusty, circular metal mirror, the kind that most departments have scattered throughout. In the reflection he can see Castiel’s back, and down the isle, he can just make out the image of a carrot-top woman standing stock still at the end. 

He quiets his steps and pauses just short of being in the woman’s eyesight, standing cautiously a few feet to Castiel’s left. Cas’ head is tilted, his surprise giving way to hesitant concern. “Hello?” He repeats.

The woman doesn’t move. She’s just standing there. Watching. Dean doesn’t like the sour feeling pooling in his gut. The woman finally moves, tilting her head slightly so that the orange winglets of her hair shift across her face, mimicking him, and calls back a calm and emotionless. “Hello.” 

Castiel frowns, obviously offset, and glances at Dean for direction. Dean gives a shrug, but he conveys with his eyes for Castiel to be on guard. Cas glances back and tentatively questions, “Are you okay? Is…Is this your store?” He’s clearly not sure of what sort of questions to ask. 

The woman takes a few steps forward, much to Dean’s dislike, before she mutters, “I’m okay.” Cas tenses when she approaches and after a few seconds of her moving forward, Dean can start to make out the dark stain on her shirt through the dusty reflection. 

That’s all the indication he needs to step forward and grab the other by the shoulder, pulling him back. “Cas.” Is all he needs to say to convey his opinion on the matter. 

The lady pauses her steps when she sees Dean. She’s assessing them both before she calmly repeats. “I’m okay.” 

When she takes another step though, Dean raises his blade warningly. “Stay there.” She pauses, but doesn’t seem unnerved by the action. A few slow seconds tick by before a scowl begins to slowly creep onto her face. “Cas.” Dean warns again, trying to get him to back away, but Cas is staying put, watching her. 

“What if she’s safe?” Castiel whispers. 

“I think she’s turning.” Dean returns evenly, loud enough for her to hear. The effect of his words doesn’t take long to show. The side of the woman’s lip lifts in a hushed snarl, and though Dean hates that he was waiting for it, she starts to run forward. 

He raises his blade, Cas copying his movements, readying themselves for the attack. An arrow suddenly shoots out from beside her, from behind one of the shoe racks. Cas jumps in surprise. She’s only a few steps away when her momentum is cut short by the injury to her abdomen and she shouts, enraged by it. She stumbles sideways from the impact and she doesn’t get the time to steady herself again before another arrow hits her, this time in the heart. 

Sam strides out from the isle beside them, all business-like and already reloading his crossbow. His face is serious, the lightness from before gone. “Let’s hurry up and get out of here.” For once, Dean doesn’t make a sarcastic comment. Instead, he nods at Cas to follow his brother and decides to take up the rear. 

 

Castiel tries his best not to be bothered by the position change as they walk back outside, but he can’t help but feel belittled. He isn’t any less capable just because he had taken the time to question her. He hadn’t met someone who was in between before. All of the ones inside of the city had long since been turned. It was a little unsettling to have one of them talk back to him. To have one of them seem… almost cognitive of their actions. 

They make no more stops, and it’s only a few minutes until their standing outside the cracked doors of the Gas station. 

“Once we’re certain the inside is clear, I’ll see if I can get the pumps turned back on, then you and Sam take the Gas cans and see if they haven’t run dry.” At Cas’ nod, Dean leads the way inside. 

They’re all startled when the bell above the door chimes. Almost immediately, they have two Croats charging at them. 

Cas knows it may seem petty, but he doesn’t hesitate to take the initiative of quickly stepping in front of Dean. Nearly at the same time as he hears Sam fire the bow, he swings his machete and lands a steady hit to the man’s wrist, which is raised, poised to swing down with the broken glass shard in hand. He can feel his blade slice into the cartilage of bone and he quickly yanks it out, ignoring the bellowing holler, and familiarly jabs his weapon upwards into the under-chin of his attacker. 

The lifeless body falls backward with a solid thud, and Castiel not-so-subtly glances behind him. Dean looks put-out, slightly irked by not getting in on any of the action. Cas feels a little guilty at the small spark of satisfaction it brings him. His left arm is aching a little from all of the recent activity, but he has a strange urge to prove himself. He’s adept enough to be of use, he doesn’t want to be treated like he’s handicapped or in need of protection. He was in the city for weeks, for heavens’ sake. 

Dean doesn’t comment, instead quickly hopping over the cashier’s counter and searching. Cas doesn’t know what he does, but Dean suddenly pops his head up, holding a hand out. “There’s a lock.” Sam steps up beside Cas, already handing over a metal pole, assumedly picked up off the ground. Dean makes quick work of smashing it open and after a second of clambering around under the counter, he shouts in success, “These idiots left a small generator. I don’t know how much juice it has left. ” A small buzz starts up and Sam and Cas blanch as the lights flicker on, including the bright neon’s advertising the ‘Open’ sign hanging unhinged on the door. 

“Shit.” Sam’s fast in running over, pulling the cords of the signs and flicking the light switches off. He nods to Cas who jogs to him, tossing one of the gas cans his way and following him outside to the pumps. 

There’s barely enough to fill up one can halfway, but Sam doesn’t seem disappointed. “It’s better than nothing.” 

Castiel glances around at their surroundings as they head back in, pleased that he doesn’t find any company approaching them. Inside is a chaotic mess, and he spots Dean hurriedly hiding a sole pack of cigarettes into the rut sack before Sam can enter behind the Omega.

Castiel makes eye contact with him and frowns. Dean glances away, pretending not to notice, and hauls up the unplugged, small generator onto the counter 

Sam announces, “Grab anything that can be of use. Even the magazines can be good fire-starters. Any food or drink at all takes priority though.”

“I call any skin-mags.” Dean calls, making his brother roll his eyes. 

They walk down separate isles. It’s not too hard to pick out supplies considering that most of the shelves are barren. The majority of whatever is left behind lays scattered across the floor. Cas passes down the once-refrigerated section and grimaces at the spoiled milk and moldy cheese left up on the rack. He gets down on his knees and looks underneath the bottom of the shelves, smiling as he finds a pack of beef jerky and a bag of chips. There’s a tack-board up on the back wall and he starts taking down the old flyers when he sees Dean in the back corner setting down a 2-liter bottle of sprite to mess with a heavy chain on the back storage door. 

“There must not have been too many people to pass through here if there’s still locks in place.” He calls. He takes the bar still in hand and starts knocking at the lock until it finally breaks free. 

Cas continues on and finds Sam, who’s taken the rut sack, and gives him the supplies he’s found. Sam’s tucking away a bottle of what looks like shampoo, and seems surprised to find a package of band-aides. 

“This is more than what we usually find unless we’re searching places closer to the cities.” Sam comments, smiling. Cas grabs a package of hair-ties and holds them up questioningly. Sam takes them without hesitation. “Everything is going to eventually find a use.” 

They pause when they hear Dean give a cheerful cry from the back, and share a confused look.

They both approach the storage room just as Dean appears in the doorway. “You are _not_ going to believe what I just found!” He’s enthusiastically grinning from ear-to-ear and they both slowly follow him inside the small room. 

Several cardboard boxes have been kicked aside and Castiel is amused when Dean dramatically spreads his arms to present the 2 boxes that lay underneath. An 18-pack of cheap beer and a nearly full box of dusty glass bottles. Alcohol. 

Sam snorts beside him, shaking his head. “I’m sure they’ll give you ‘Camper-of-the-year’ award when we get back.”

Dean sniffs at him. “What makes you think I’m sharing? Finders-keepers.” He circles around them and Castiel’s caught off guard when he throws an arm over both of their shoulders, pulling them in close. “Look at the beauty of it. Soak it in.” Castiel’s entertained by Dean’s aura, acting as if he’d just won the lottery. 

Sam shrugs his arm off, but he’s laughing nonetheless. “Come on. Grab them and the cardboards, I think Cas and I have mostly cleaned out the front.” He heads back out of the room, but Castiel doesn’t automatically move away. 

Cas and Dean both stand motionless there for a quiet moment, Dean’s arm still slung over the shorter man’s shoulders. It’s just long enough for the action to start to feel less nonchalant and more… personal. Finally, Dean gives a small cough and squeezes Cas’ shoulder one last time before he lets go and moves forward. 

Castiel feels an odd emptiness at the loss of contact. He gives a small shake of his head and chalks it up to the fact that he hasn’t really had any non-violent physical contact with anyone in quite a long time. He helps pick up the last of the cardboard, and grabs the soda Dean had left outside the room and then they’re all outside, trying to make quick time with their hands full back to the jeep before anyone or any _thing_ can spot them.

He’s mildly surprised that they make it back without incidence. They’re finishing stuffing the overflowing sack into the back of the car when Sam asks, “Do you want someone else to drive?”

Dean thinks for a moment. Shrugs. “Sure. I don’t really care.”

Sam looks to him. “Cas?”

Castiel quickly shakes his head. “I can’t. Thank you though.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “You can fight off some Croats just fine with your arm but you can’t handle a little driving?”

Castiel glowers at him, pouting. “It’s not my arm, you …ass.” The curse word sounds awkward on his tongue and he quickly decides that he’s not going to try to start incorporating them into his speech. “I never learned to drive. I don’t have a license.”

Sam seems amused at the admission and Dean honestly looks scandalized. “You’re joking.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not exactly one to ‘joke’.”

Dean frowns at him for a moment before a mischievous smile creeps onto his face. He makes a show of glancing around them, like he’s looking to see if they’re about to get caught doing something wrong, before he smirks at Cas.

“Get behind the wheel.”


	18. A Night to Remember

Dean can only count his blessings that the Jeep is an automatic. If it had been stick he doubts they would have even made it down the street. 

“ _Jesus!_ It’s a straight line, why are you stepping on the breaks?!” 

“We were going too fast.”

_”Compared to what?”_

Cas has a frustrated pout on his face, trying to cover up his embarrassment with annoyance. “We’re not on a time restraint. Why does it matter how fast we’re going?”

Dean points with a sharp finger at the rustic sign slowly passing them on the right. “You see that? It means that once-upon-a-time someone decided it was safe to drive 50 on this road. That was when there were _other cars_ around-”

He’s cut off when Castiel makes a point of stepping on the breaks just a little-too-hard, and then slowly drives around a tree branch laying on the road. 

Dean furls and unfurls his hands in front of him in clear irritation. “You could have driven over that!” 

“Ignore him, Cas.” Sam leans forward between them from the back seat. “He just has a diagnosable case of Road-Rage.” 

Sam and Cas both smirk, purposefully paying no attention to Dean’s scowl. 

“If I can give a pointer, it’s easier to figure out how to decelerate by just letting off of the gas instead of automatically stepping on the breaks when you don’t plan on actually stopping. It’s less jarring that way.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Castiel politely says in an overly-pleasant tone. 

‘ _Thank you, Sam._ ’ Dean soundlessly imitates the words before he huffs and slouches back into his seat, petulantly crossing his arms. 

Once he decides that he’s no longer going to give feedback on the other’s driving -because _fine_ if Sam is apparently so much better at it- it doesn’t take long for him to relax and enjoy the feeling of the late afternoon wind whipping through his hair. It’s still a nice day, warm air whishing in through the open windows. He taps his fingers on the window ridge and hums some old tune he can’t remember the origin of. 

After another half hour, when Sam’s finally done giving pointers on driving and silence has fallen, Dean glances beside him again. 

Castiel still has a death-grip with both hands at ten-and-two on the steering wheel, but his shoulders have relaxed. He looks nice this way. Calm, with a pleasant look on his face, toffee-brown hair serenely shifting across his forehead. 

Dean has a hard time not focusing on the bruises. 

They’re newly developing, and it upsets him that he hasn’t had the chance to see Cas with an unblemished face. The few from before had finally been disappearing and now they’re hidden behind multi-colored fresh ones. There’s several dusting his cheek, his top lip is slightly swelled from where it had been split, and then of course there’s the dark ring of fingerprints peeking out from under the collar of his new [stupid] coat. 

He hates the remaining evidence of what had occurred only the night before. He knows it’s ridiculous to waste time on thoughts of how he could have possibly prevented it from happening, especially when his mind draws up a blank as to how. They’d both been sleeping in the same room. Short of handcuffing him to the bed, there’s no way he could have stopped Cas from sneaking out. 

He’d only realized the other was gone when he’d woken up in restless sweat. He can’t remember exactly what he’d been dreaming about, something to do with the forest again or something. But what had started out as a very pleasant dream had quickly taken a turn for the worst. The first thing he had realized when he woke was that his room had an acrid smell to it, the second was that Castiel was gone. He had instantly been put on edge and when he found the holding room to be empty, his mind had jumped to the conclusion that Castiel had, for some idiotic reason, tried to run away. Within minutes he had knocked on Ellen’s door, asking for help to find him and then he was jogging down the halls, searching for any trace of him. 

 

The atmosphere of the vehicle is nearly tranquil, and yet there’s this abnormal anxiety slowly building in his bones. It takes him awhile to place it. He wants to think that he’s completely fine living on his own without the camp. Especially if his definition of alone really means being with his brother. And maybe Cas. 

But there is, without a doubt, an underlying panic that resides with the thought. Sure, a camp holds some form of stability and security in this world and going without one could spell out disaster. But the idea of leaving behind everyone he’s grown close to over the past two years, everyone that he’s fought beside, broken bread with, shared sentiments with…

He knows he can’t do it. He knows that he probably won’t even be able to keep up the façade of wanting to when he brings his brother back. Bobby, Ellen, Jess, Jo, Ash… the list of them goes on and they’re all people who’ve practically become a second family to him. 

And he doesn’t want to lose any more family. 

Which means that, without a new destination in mind and no new routes to take, the next move is to go back. 

And he realizes that the anxiety isn’t entirely about contemplating the idea of leaving. It’s about the idea of returning. Because what does that mean for Cas?

He’s glad that Castiel’s eyes are glued to the road, because he knows that the look he’s wearing is a sad one. Castiel is truly stuck between a rock and an even harder rock. He has almost no chance of making any progress in his search if he decides to go at it on his own. It will only result in him being on the run again, constantly in danger. Or he could try and return with the Winchesters, but then he’ll have to face the whole ordeal of what happened again, and even then, in Castiel’s head, how would he not feel like he’s still constantly in danger? He’d been attacked even when he had been residing in, what Dean considered, the safest place on earth. 

It all goes without saying and the longer they drive the less peaceful the quiet between them becomes. Sam is unusually silent in the back and Castiel is slowly looking more and more unsettled the farther they drive, the imminent issue looming closer and closer.

Finally, Sam’s the one to give them a reprieve. “If you want, pull over here. We can stay here tonight.”

“Here?” Cas glances around, confused when he only sees a long field of grass to their right and forestry to their left. 

“Yeah, the forest will be good cover and the nearest towns are from that way.” He points towards the field. “We’ll have a good chance of spotting any of them coming if they come from that direction.” 

Cas looks at Dean, like for some reason he’s chosen Dean to be the real voice of reason. He shrugs. “Good a place as any.” 

Cas lets off the gas and taps the break once, twice, and then on his third, tries to stop the vehicle but he does it hard enough that they still yank forward towards the dashboard. The seat belt digs in hard and Dean’s breath is punched out of him. 

The vehicle is still and Sam attempts to hide his low groan as he sits back up. Cas finally looks up from where he’s staring at his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. There’s a bright, prominent blush on his cheeks. He shakily shifts the Jeep into ‘park’ and after an extensive long moment, shoots an expectant, withering glare at Dean. 

Dean tries and fails to hide his snort of amusement. 

 

-=-  
Sleeping arrangements are not something any of them had remembered to prepare for on their rush out and now they’re stuck with whatever remains in the jeep from earlier trips. They don’t have a tent, but they do have a single sleeping bag crammed into the trunk. As the sun goes down they crack open a can of soup, and despite Dean’s heavy complaints, they eat it cold. They don’t want to risk a fire attracting the wrong attention. 

Dean suggests that they crack open something a little more satisfying, but Castiel laments that it’s not a good idea to be inebriated when they’re out in the open, Sam seconding the opinion. 

Sam offers to take the first shift of look-out since he’s had more sleep than both of the others by this point. Dean takes the second, which leaves Cas with the early hours of the morning. 

The sleeping bag is unfolded across the flat back seat and Castiel insists that Dean takes it. 

“Seriously, it’s okay. I’m more than used to sleeping in a Car seat.”

“No, Dean. I got to sleep in your bed the night before. I’d prefer you take the commodity this time.”

Dean finally agrees, only if it’s to resolutely ignore the annoyingly wide-eyed stare he’s receiving from Sam. 

 

Dean is about half-way into his shift and he’s honestly feeling pretty cozy. He’s resting on the hood of the jeep, back leaning on the front window, and he stares out at the immense array of stars shining above him. The woods behind them consists of fairly spread out trees, and the field below them is long and vast. Besides the occasional indication of the animals scurrying out of sight, the only sound he hears is the tranquil rustle of the long grass laid out before him. The only thing he can think of that would make him feel better in this moment was if he was resting on his old, familiar Impala with an ice-cold beer in hand. He tries not to dwell on the what-if. 

The air has chilled quite a bit, but he feels comfortable enough wrapped up in his black leather jacket. He wonders at the beautiful weather they’re having despite it being so close to November. He could hope that it’s a hint of a short mellow winter, but he has an ominous feeling that it’s going to be the opposite. Like the still before a storm. 

He jumps when Castiel appears beside him, hair rumpled and all squinty-eyed. He’s astonished that he hadn’t heard the door open or close. “How the hell…” Cas tilts his head questioningly but Dean just shakes his, choosing to let it go.

He doesn’t say anything as Castiel shifts and pulls himself up onto the hood beside him. Cas sits cross-legged and Dean’s sprawled out, arms crossed behind his head. There’s a relaxed silence between them as they listen to the rustle of the long blades of grass shifting in the wind. They roll with it in long fluid waves, like a stretching green sea. A bright shooting star passes above them and they both simultaneously turn their eyes up to the sky. 

“This reminds me of the school.” Cas murmurs almost inaudibly, “Even before the break out, I would sometimes sneak out of the dorms after all of the lights had been switched off. I would sit on the hill and watch the stars. They’re even brighter out here.”

Dean soaks in the low rasp of his voice for a moment before he responds, “I guess if there’s one upside to the downfall of society…” He only meant it half-heartedly, but it still falls bitter and flat and Castiel doesn’t reply.

He clears his throat and mutters, “You know, I always had a plan for if the end of the world happened. It obviously was more of a joke at the time, but I still had it. But I never planned for living _through_ the end of the world.”

Cas tilts his head, eyes still glued to nature’s tapestry above them. “I’ve never contemplated it. Like most, I always assumed it to be an issue for the far future, for the generations long after ours. Or if it did occur, that it would be so instantly- so absolutely- that you wouldn’t have the need to contemplate it.” 

Dean lets out a long, tiring sigh. “Guess that’s how the stale cookie crumbles. Into a bunch of stab-happy pieces.” It lightens his sour mood some when he sees the corner of Cas’ lip twitch. And then he wonders why making Cas smile almost feels like a treat to him. Why, lately, it seems to be a prize he’s always striving for. 

Dean’s not sure how much time passes, he’s too busy trying to brush the thoughts away. But he’s too aware of the distracting warmth he can feel slowly seeping into his side from where Castiel sits. 

“So did you manage it?”

“Hm?” 

“Your end-of-the-world plan. Did you do it?”

Dean gives a soft snort and shakes his head. “Didn’t really get much of a forewarning. Was a little too preoccupied trying to find Sammy to go get smashed and have one last good lay.” 

Cas scrunches his eyebrows for a moment before they widen. Dean can see how he averts his eyes farther away.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. There’s always company when you’re stuck living in small spaces with people who are just as aware of what may be waiting to happen in the morning as you are. But it’s not the same as it was before. At least before, people actually pretended to care for whomever they were sleeping around with. I thought I’d always enjoy the no-stings-attached approach but when they’re aren’t really any other options, it suddenly doesn’t seem so appealing anymore.” He has to make a conscious effort to close his mouth. He’s rambling. He knows he is. 

He doesn’t really feel awkward talking about it. It’s just a fact. But he feels oddly embarrassed after, like he may have over-shared with Cas.

Eventually, Castiel seems able to form a reply. “Sam appears happy. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but I didn’t take him as one to form those types of relationships.”

Dean scrunches up his face. “No, I’d normally say no. He’s got something real going on with Jess. They were classmates before and have been together ever since. She’s a nice girl and he needs to officially make something out of it. But on the other hand, there’s Ruby. I personally think he needs to call it quits with her. He won’t listen to me, but I’m like 90% sure that she’s treating their relationship, if you can even call it that, like a game.” 

“Hopefully it will work out for the best for him.” 

Dean makes a noncommittal sound.

“And you?”

“And me-what?”

“I never saw you interact with anyone else in that fashion. Are you pursuing anyone in the camp?”

Dean snorts. “Not really. Most of them feel like family now more than anything else. Guess I missed my chance. Why the sudden interrogation?” 

It’s Castiel’s turn to shrug. “You may have called it so, but I don’t really think of it as the end of the world. There’s still time for you to form a relationship with someone. Whether it be in the camp or years down the road when this nightmare is over.”

Dean sends him a quizzical look but Cas still isn’t looking at him. “You really think things are going to get better?”

He nods. “Yes. Some day. Humans are resilient. We always have been. I like to think that eventually, however long it will take, this will just be seen as a rather …undesirable time in history.” 

“If we ever do reach that point, and we get into the history books, I want our chapter to be titled as the ‘This-Sucked-Major-Ass’ time period of the 21st century.” 

“Sounds like a mouthful.” Castiel deadpans. Dean smiles.

A lull in conversation follows but it’s still a comfortable one. Castiel pulls his trench coat tighter around himself, and Dean takes note that the temperature has finally dropped low enough for him to see their breath, puffing out in bare white wisps when they face the moonlight. 

 

It’s a long time before Castiel finally breaks the silence again. “You both have to go back.” 

Dean doesn’t really react at all, just continues to stare out at the scenery before them. Finally, he replies with a simple, “I know.” 

Minutes pass before Dean shifts on the jeep, sitting up and rests his legs over the edge of the fender. He may or may not be completely aware of how their legs now slightly touch, barely enough to be felt. “But you know… “ He clears his throat, “It doesn’t have to be just the two of us. I’m not leaving you behind to deal with this on your own. If we go back it’s because you’re coming with us.” Castiel frowns, but Dean speaks up before he can respond. “I’m not forcing you to go back. You have a choice, but I’m not leaving you behind.” 

“Your words are conflicting.”

Dean purses his lips and then shrugs. “My thoughts are conflicting.”

“As are mine.”

He frowns, staring down at his clasped hands. “I know it’s not the best scenario, but we could find a way to make it work. I’m sure we’ll find some form of back up when we return. My friends may sometimes seem a bit thick when it comes to standing up for what’s right but… they’re still good people. With a little convincing, I’m pretty confident that we could manage to have the camp accept you back. To accept all of us back.”

“I feel that there may be less support than what you’re hoping for. You may belong there, but just yesterday morning Gordon felt the need to remind me that I don’t. I’m an intruder there. And if I’m to be honest, it’s easier to breathe out here, in the open. There may be danger hiding in the shadows, but at least I don’t need to wonder at who my enemies are.”

Dean jaw is clenched. “Gordon’s just a bastard that way. His bark is bigger than his bite. On most days, anyway. And everyone probably feels that way at first when they come. Granted, you’ve uh, kind of had a bumpier start, but there’s always a place to fit someone in, it just takes time. In a way, Ellen was probably right. We’ll have a better chance at swaying the majority of the Camp’s opinion now that the heat of the situation has died down.” 

Castiel sighs. “How are you so sure that it has dissipated? It’s only been one day and Alastair is still there to call for blood. And that one man, the one you called Azazel; He never clearly stated what he had meant by ‘taking me out of the camp’, but I can guess what the indication was.” 

“I won’t let either of them near you.” Dean doesn’t realize that his hands have curled into fists until he begins to feel the cold sting of nails biting into his skin. He has to remind himself to let the heat out of his voice before he continues with, “And if the camp doesn’t agree to take you back, this time without the limitations of before… then that makes my decision a hell of a lot easier. Sam can decide to stay if he wants, but I’ll leave with you. I don’t know where to go or even what direction we’d head in, but I’d stay with you until we found out what happened to Anna.”

Castiel turns to give him a calculating stare and Dean forces himself not to look away from the heavy gaze. The bright blue of his eyes seem to shine brighter with the reflection of the moonlight and Dean tries not to feel too sappy for noticing it.

“What are you thinking about?” He outright asks, because he doesn’t know if he can take much more wild guessing of what’s running through the others’ mind. 

Cas’ stare only intensifies for a few seconds until, finally, he blinks and glances down at the space between them. Or he would be, if there were any. “I’m still wondering why you’re putting so much effort into helping me. I never really asked for you to. And there isn’t much of a pay-off for you in the end. In fact, helping me seems to only be worsening your situation with your own camp.” 

“Just because it might make things harder, doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s not the right thing to do.” 

After a moment, Castiel tilts his head back to the sky and with the utmost confidence, solemnly responds, “You are a good person, Dean Winchester.” 

Dean scrunches his face and starts to shake his head, “Nah, I just-“

“I’d prefer not to listen to you downplay or negate from it, if you don’t mind. Modesty is easy to convey.” Dean’s mouth snaps shut, once again faced with the bluntness of Castiel’s straight-forwardness. “You have many faults, as everyone does. But your aptitude for acting on what you believe to be right, without hesitation… it’s admirable.”

He’s at a loss for words. He’s never been one to take compliments very well. Even now, he’s trying to ignore the annoyingly high-probability that he’s already developing an embarrassed flush, and underneath the awkward gratitude that he doesn’t know how to sort out, he feels a twinge of irritation. Because how the hell is he supposed to respond to that? Just say ‘thanks’ like a pompous asshole? Or is it his turn to return a compliment, and they can just sit here all night stroking each other’s egos? 

“You don’t need to say anything.” Cas speaks up quietly, his voice solid with the unassuming honesty of the statement. Dean has to double-check, but sure enough Cas still isn’t even looking at him. Like he can just read Dean’s frickin’ mind due to close proximity. So, not knowing what else to do, he takes Cas’ advice. He doesn’t say a word. 

Instead, he tries his hardest to follow Cas’ lead in returning his attention to the stars. But it’s difficult. Half-so because for some off reason, he can still feel a slight warmth to his cheeks. He’s trying to stubbornly ignore the feeling, but it’s hard when Cas’ words are still ringing around in his head. 

The other reason is that with every moment that passes by, he finds his line of sight straying more and more to the silhouette of the omega’s face. It’s hard not to. Cas looks so calm and sure of himself in this moment, features stark against the trailing moonlight. Today has been a long one, just like the ones before it, but Castiel’s aura has been so much more…open lately. It makes him wish that there wasn’t so much shit happening around them. That Castiel had just had a simple transition into the camp. That there wasn’t so much to think about. 

“You smell nice tonight.” He doesn’t even realize he’d opened his mouth until the words are out and hanging between them. 

Cas blinks. “Sorry?”

Dean’s blush worsens and he shakes his head, trying with all of his might to will the stupid thing away. “Nothin’.” He shrugs awkwardly, “Just sayin’…you smell, uh, good. Tonight. Just noticed it more than usual is all.”

Cas is quiet for a moment before he gives a teasing smirk. “I wouldn’t know. You still haven’t explained to me what I smell like.” 

Dean gives a face before he chuckles, hand scratching at the back of his neck nervously. “And I still have absolutely no idea how I’d go about explaining it to you.” 

“Perhaps one day you’ll find your words.” Cas lets it slide for the moment and Dean’s grateful. He tries to look away, to force his gaze forward, but all he can focus on is how the white tendrils of their breath roll out before them, almost managing to tangle together before they disappear. 

“Sometimes I wonder how deep it really goes.”

He’s caught off guard by the seemingly random comment. “How deep what goes?” 

Cas tilts his head, testing out his thoughts, “Our…genetics. The way we’re gaining new senses… the new tastes, smells… the impulses. How much of it will continue to alter and how much can we attribute to our heritage.”

Dean huffs out a breath, “I don’t know if I’m ready to handle an existential crises.”

Cas doesn’t defer though, instead he continues, “I’m having issue with figuring out what I can blame on our new-found biology. I’ve been…reacting without much thought recently. I get an impulse to do something, without understanding the reason behind it…and I’ve just been doing it. It’s abnormal for me. I’ve always been a careful person. I grew up always keeping in mind the repercussions that can occur with every action. But lately it’s hard to stop and remind myself to think before I act. I want to blame it on the changes, but then it leads me to think that perhaps I’m avoiding taking responsibility for my actions.”

Dean lets out a long breath of air and furrows his eyebrows, trying to comprehend it all. “Like what?”

Cas shrugs. “It mostly occurs when I’m fighting. Which, I’m content with. There’s never enough time to think during those moments anyways. But then there are other times where I think if I’d just refrain from myself, perhaps I wouldn’t keep getting myself into such complicated situations. Like when I’d attacked Jo and tried to escape. Or last night. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I may have partly instigated the argument until it became a fight.”

Dean brushes it off. “Nah, you can’t start thinking that way. You were scared when you woke up in our camp. And I highly doubt that you were the deciding factor in Alastair going mental last night. Just sounds like basic instincts to me. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.” He frowns. He doesn’t want the comfortable atmosphere they’d had going on between them ruined. He leans over and softly nudges him with his shoulder. “Hey, what’s bringing this on, Cas?” 

Castiel finally turns his face away from the sky at the contact, but his eyes focus on his folded hands in his lap. After a long, stretched out moment, he finally turns to Dean and quietly murmurs, “There is no fight at this moment, and yet I keep finding myself wanting to act impulsively. Though it’d probably be unwise to do so. ” Dean’s unhappy when Castiel breaks his gaze once again to look down. He’d nearly gotten used to Castiel and his long-intimidating stares, this new wariness about it is almost disconcerting. Castiel’s almost acting…shy. 

Which is when he notices that he can barely make out the small pink tint to the others cheeks. And like a small epiphany, he realizes that perhaps Castiel’s line-of-thought isn’t so off-hand and as casual as he’s trying to portray it to be. 

“Cas?” 

He only turns his body incrementally towards Dean, to indicate that he’s listening but still not willing to face him.

There’s an old, familiar twist of stirring nerves in Dean’s stomach. He knows what they are. He can’t even convince himself that he’s surprised to feel them. But he also knows that rationally, he should ignore them. 

Which kind of puts Castiel’s entire issue into a more understandable prospective. There’s this spontaneous thought, a reckless want, and just like every other decision, he now has to choose to act upon it or leave it behind. It reminds him of the first day he’d met Castiel. How a split-second decision had resulted in Castiel now sitting here beside him, alive and breathing. 

“Cas.” He repeats. 

This time, Castiel finally drags his gaze upwards until it settles on him. “Hm?” 

Dean contemplates ignoring the stubborn warmth slowly growing in his gut. But with Cas’ full attention focused on him, he considers that this is it. The moment where he selects one of two options and sticks with it. 

What helps him make his decision is the knowledge that, whether humanity lives on or not, for him, this _is_ the end of the world. And they _are_ living in it. People are dying every single day, and everyone is losing loved ones left and right. Why should he beat down this feeling, when he doesn’t have much else left to lose?

“What if I was the one to act impulsively?” 

Castiel slowly raises an eyebrow, silently questioning him. But Dean thinks that he may not just be completely imagining the flash of awareness in the others eyes. 

“In what way?” 

Dean takes one last breath to steady himself, and then decides _‘fuck it.’_

In one fluid motion, he leans over, lightly grasps the side of Castiel’s bruised cheek, and firmly presses their lips together. 

Castiel makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat and reflexively pulls away. Dean reluctantly lets him. His blue eyes are wide and his blush is full-blown. 

Dean can’t say that he’s not disappointed. But he’s understanding. It was a chance that he took, and now he’ll just have to deal with the-

He’s taken by surprise, to say the least, when Castiel suddenly surges forward and meets his lips once again, this time with more force than before.

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to recover from the shock. But when he does, he lets his frozen stature melt and he leans into it. His hand trails down from cupping Cas’ cheek to resting on the side of his neck. He feels that coil of nerves rise from his stomach up into his chest and he hums with the pleasant contact. 

Castiel’s cheeks are cold, but his lips are warm. It takes Dean a minute to get him to relax enough to unseal the tight line of them. There’s something in the hesitant way Cas seems to be following his lead that hints that perhaps Castiel hasn’t had much experience with kissing before. He almost takes the time to ponder it before he distantly remembers the strict environment Cas grew up in. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed before he finally lets himself delve in, gently swiping his tongue across the other’s mouth. Castiel gives a nearly inaudible groan and Dean can see his eyelashes slightly fluttering through the peek of his eyes. Castiel grabs at the shoulder of Dean’s jacket and twists, his head tilting with the motion as he deepens the kiss. 

Dean had no way of knowing that the night would end this way. But he has no complaints. Cas’ skin is soft, and his scent is stronger than ever. The fresh crispness of it cuts through his mind like butter and makes it impossible to focus on anything else. He looses track of time as the warmth crosses back and forth between their mouths and they languidly explore the enjoyable feeling of oxytocin’s filling their head, a natural high that Dean hasn’t had the pleasure of feeling in far too long. 

Eventually, he hears the distant crow of a rooster welcoming a new day. It helps clear his mind some and he realizes that somehow they’d ended up half-lying down on the hood of the jeep. He starts to pull back, remembering that they're supposed to be watching the area around them, but Castiel makes a sound of protest and pulls him back in. 

He’s leaning back on his elbow, other hand still twisted in Cas’ hair. Cas if half on-top of him, one leg tossed carelessly across his as he rolls his tongue into Dean’s again. Dean groans and returns the sentiment. He can feel the air warming around them and knows that the sky is lightening. It’s probably far past the time when his shift ended and Castiel’s began, but at the moment he couldn’t care less. 

And, of course, it’s probably not too long after that that they hear a distinct thud come from inside the jeep. They both freeze in their movements, eyes opening to stare at each other in surprise. And then they’re pulling away so fast that Castiel accidentally rolls onto his bad arm and grimaces. Neither of them pay much attention to it though as they’re too busy sitting up and trying to straighten themselves out to care. Not ten seconds later, the back door of the jeep is knocked open and Sam comes stumbling out. 

Dean’s not completely sure why, but his body has switched into a minor panic mode and he jumps off of the jeep, hand running through his hair. 

Sam’s still stretching as he takes his time rounding the side of the jeep, but his eyes are on them, flicking back and forth between the two with a raised eyebrow. “Am I interrupting something?” 

Dean’s posture is stiff, despite him trying to appear casual, and he’s too quick to respond with a short, “No.” 

Sam’s eyebrow just inches higher. He glances back at Cas and Dean hesitantly follows his gaze. 

Castiel’s obviously trying to act nonchalant, perhaps a little too so. Dean inwardly groans. Cas’ hair is a hap hazardous mess, his cheeks are still too flushed, and his lips look absolutely red and abused. If that wasn’t enough, he’s still got a dazed look to his eye and Dean has a dreadful, horrendous feeling that Sam isn’t oblivious enough not to notice it. 

His brother’s stare flicks back to him and he makes the mistake of averting his eyes. He instantly regrets it because when he looks back up Sam’s doing a terrible job of disguising the small smirk creeping onto his face. “So how was the shift?”

He knows, and hates that he knows, that his own blush is worsening. He scuffs his shoe across the ground and gives a gruff, “Uneventful. You ready to go?”

“Already?” Dean also hates the poor excuse of feigned ignorance in his brother’s tone. 

He doesn’t bother with a reply and instead shoves his hands in his pockets and starts walking around the car. Just before he’s out of range, he glances back up and he’s met with Castiel’s stare. It’s warm and pleasant and Dean’s stomach does a small flip as his chest imitates the feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A comment a day keeps the writer's-block at bay :)


	19. Driven destruction

Dean had tried to protest. He really had. 

_“This isn’t a friggin’ democracy.”_

But Sam has recently been rather supportive of Castiel.

 _“How is he ever supposed to learn if he doesn’t get the chance to try?”_

And Castiel was quickly learning that when it came to debates between the two, Sam usually won. 

So once again, Castiel was nestled behind the steering wheel with Sam looking through a small road atlas next to him, and Dean sat in the back- whom all the while was mumbling something about how he now had to suffer through the ‘atrocity of what Cas calls driving.’ 

Castiel is in a rather amiable mood. He’s having a somewhat difficult time keeping the wandering smile from creeping onto his lips. Partly because he’s not entirely sure why he needs to. But Dean had clearly been wanting to keep the activities of earlier under wraps and Castiel was fine honoring those wishes. 

He steals the smallest of glances through the rearview mirror to see Dean staring out of the window, a far-off look in his eye. He wonders what the other is thinking about. Whether it’s about this morning or about their impending arrival. 

It probably concerns the latter, but Castiel’s not sure he’s ready to dwell on it yet. 

Mostly due to the fact that he’s still unsure of what he wants to do. 

But it’s not something he can stave off for much longer. The drive is not that far, and with every mile they only get closer. 

Castiel’s not sure how much time they have left, but he can tell they’re getting close when Sam sighs and sets the map down. “So, how are we doing this?”

Castiel can feel his heartbeat kick up a small notch and he swallows. He glances again in the rearview and this time Dean’s eyes are on him, expectant. 

He bites his lip for a minute, thinking. “…Dean believes that there is a chance that I can return with you two. That it will all work out. I’m not so sure that that can occur without incident.”

Sam nods, already expecting the response. “Well, there’s only one way to find out. It just depends on whether you’re willing to try or not.” 

His mind is teetering on the decision. He doesn’t want to go back to a place that feels so confining, with so many secret feelings and feuds being hidden from everyone, yet somehow known enough to cause tension. If he went back, he has no doubts that there will be some form of repercussions waiting for him, one way or another. 

But he has no idea what his other option would entail. Would he just ask the brothers for a few provisions and then say his goodbyes? Choose a road and start walking? He doesn’t know how far he’ll get and he has the sinking knowledge that he may never make progress in finding Anna that way. In reality, he has absolutely no new indications on where she could have gone, only that she had made it out of the school alive.

Which, for the moment, is good enough. He wants to find her, more than anything else in the world, but for now he can settle with just knowing that she’s [probably] out there, somewhere. 

If the camp could contemplate getting past what had happened before, and possibly consider the idea of accepting him as a new member… 

His stomach churns at the idea of being part of the same camp as so many vile characters. Alastair, Gordon, Lilith, Azazel… 

But the same camp includes Dean, Sam, and Balthazar. He’s even fond of Jess, Ellen, and Jo. He aches a little when he thinks of Balthazar. He still has zero ideas on what had happened to his him. Leaving the camp without any information on his best friend had been very trying. Could he really choose to go off on his own without knowing if Bal is safe?

“I think… I think I’d be willing to try. Or at the very least …” he trails off, not entirely sure of where he was going. 

A moment goes by before Sam nods and picks up in a decided manner, “Now we just need to figure out what we’re going to do about Alastair.”

Castiel frowns. “I still don’t know if there’s anything we really can do. We left in such a rush… I doubt he didn’t take the opportunity to cement his story. Without actual evidence of him intentionally trying to hurt the camp, he’s practically untouchable.”

“His face didn’t feel all that untouchable to me.” 

Sam’s not amused. “Fighting him isn’t going to solve anything. It might make you feel better, but all it’s going to do is paint all of us in an even worse light.”

Dean grumbles and sits back. After a moment he says, “Then we just need to find evidence.”

Sam pinches his eyebrows and looks back at his brother. “What do you mean?”

“Like Cas said, we need some evidence. Proof that he’s bad news. Prove to everyone once and for all that we’re better off without him.” 

Sam continues to stare at him before he slowly drawls “…And how do you suppose we do that?”

Dean opens his mouth for a second before closing it. He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I was just thinking, he always seems to be up to something slimly. He’s just too careful about it to get caught.” He looks up suddenly, a spark of interest in his eyes. “Cas, you said he kept asking you weird questions, right? What were they about?” 

“I don’t know. He kept asking me about staying in the camp. He kept trying to convince me that it would be safer to live in a large camp, as if I didn’t already know that.” 

Dean’s shoulders sag. “So he was just being a creep. Nothing we could really use.”

Cas frowns at Dean’s disappointed stature. “…What about his notebook?”

“His what?” Sam looks at Castiel, confused. 

Castiel looks back to the road, feeling oddly self-conscious for mentioning it. He doesn’t know much about anyone in the camp, Dean and Sam are probably far more equipped to brain-storm on this. 

“He has a notebook. He usually keeps it on him, in that small nap-sack he often carries around. I asked him about it once, but he didn’t really seem to want to divulge anything about it. It may be nothing. But I was just thinking… if there’s any physical proof that he’s ‘up to something’, then there’s a probable chance that it could be written in there.”

Dean and Sam share a glance before Dean smirks. “So you’re saying he has a diary.” 

Castiel ignores him and nods. “Possibly.” 

Dean starts to nod slowly. “Yeah…maybe. I don’t have any clue as to what it could be about, but if there’s a chance that he’s hiding something in there then I’m up for finding it out.” 

Sam still looks doubtful. “Hiding something. Like what?”

Dean glares at his brother. “I _just said_ that I don’t have a clue.”

 

Sam continues to glance between them, but he doesn’t look hopeful. “I think you guys may be grasping at straws.” He shrugs. “But, I guess it’s a good a place to start as any. I don’t know how we would go about-“

_“Cas!”_

Castiel had looked away from the road towards the Winchesters, for a second, _one second_ , and at Dean’s bellow he whips his head back, just in time to see their vehicle ram into a man who had appeared out of nowhere. 

There’s no time between the _thud_ of the bumper and the _crash_ of the body flying up into the window, the glass shattering with the impact. Castiel’s first instinct is to slam on the breaks, his arms are locked in place as he grips the wheel but he can’t see anything through the shattered window. They can feel the car start to veer sideways off the road and just as Sam yells at him not to, he turns the wheel to try to counteract it. 

Cas may be yelling. Or maybe one of the Winchesters are. He can’t tell. But he _can_ feel the jeep tilting dangerously on its side, two of the wheels lifting from the road. Sam’s reaching over him, turning the wheel this way-and-that and Castiel just grits his teeth and prays that Sam knows how to fix his mistake. 

They’re driving blind for what is probably only a few seconds, but feels like a lifetime, before the jeep slams into something solid and they all fly forward at the impact, seatbelts wrenching the breath, along with any cognitive thought, out of them. 

 

For a split second, Castiel is terrified that he’s dead. 

He’s terrified that the Winchesters are dead. And it’s entirely his fault. 

Everything is white. There’s a whining buzz in his ear and he finds that he can’t really breathe. If he’s dead, then why does he still feel so physically horrible?

 

Then Sam’s arm is in eyesight again and he realizes that the white in front of him is the air bag. Sam’s pushing it out of the way, glancing at him, but really his focus is on the back and he can hear him calling for his brother. 

“Dean!? Dean, are you-“

“I’m okay. I’m good.” Dean rasps from the back. 

Castiel’s mouth tastes tangy and bitter and he realizes that it’s from a mixture of blood and smoke. It may be only a small amount, but the sensation still has him going on full alert and he tries not to fall into the memory of the school. There’s much more important things at hand. 

Cas joltingly turns his head, and he can’t describe the relief he feels when Dean slowly drags himself back up into view. There’s a wide gash on his forehead. “How ‘bout you two? Any missing limbs?” Dean tries to grin, but it quickly falls into a grimace. 

Sam sags back against his seat, his relief even more prominent. “No, we’re fine. We’re all alive, that’s all that matters. We should…” Sam’s reaching over to his side, trying to undo his seatbelt when Castiel sees him. A man at the open window.

“Sam!” He shouts and grabs at the alpha’s arm, trying to drag the Winchester closer to his side but he’s not fast enough in alerting them to the danger. The man leans into the car and jabs his knife forward, and Sam barely lifts his arm up in time to keep it from jamming into his neck. Instead it slices deeply into the meat of his wrist. A women appears behind the man, smiling wickedly. 

“Fuck! _Sam!_ ” Dean’s already trying to grab at the man’s arm, but his movements are hindered from his position in the backseat. Cas is there, and he and Sam are both trying their best to stop the guy from being able to swipe at the younger brother again but he’s rabid and relentless in his attempts. 

They both have a hold on the hand that’s gripping the bloody knife but it’s not long before the woman is crowding behind him, trying to double the attack. Sam leans backwards towards Castiel and lifts a foot to the man’s chest, using him as a barrier between them and the woman as they struggle. The man has managed to clutch a jagged piece of glass from the windowsill in the other and Cas is grabbing for that hand as well.

It’s all commotion and chaos in the small enclosed space and somehow Castiel hears Dean’s shout over it all, “Cas, hold him still!” As if he hadn’t already been trying. Sam’s half-on top of him in his attempt to get away from the assault. He hears the backdoor slam open. Castiel hopes that he’s got a good grip on the hand with the knife because he lets go and instead grabs the man’s hair, using it to steady and slow his jerking movements. The second the man seems immobilized, a loud, deafening shot rings through his ears. 

Not a second passes by before a second reverberates through the car. His face is warm and wet. He hadn’t realized his eyes had closed at the loud sound until he’s opening them to see the man’s lifeless body drop into a heap on top of Sam. 

He and Sam both still with shock, staring at the bloody mess on top of them. And then Dean’s outside the car and opening the door and hurling the limp body out of the away with no small aggression. His hands are hauling his brother up into a sitting position and fear takes over. “Sam? Sam, talk to me.” 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Sam is muttering, but he’s holding his hand with a wide-eyed look. 

Castiel opens his door and stumbles outside. He glances around, stuck on high-alert for any others approaching the car but the coast seems clear. 

On the other side of the car, he watches as Dean helps Sam clamber out. He notices the way Dean limps and spots the blood on his pant leg, blood slowly seeping out from a second gash. The older brother doesn’t even bother trying to take his shirt off before ripping the bottom of it, using the cloth to wrap his brother’s wrist. 

Castiel can tell from all of their stunned silence that they’re all fearing the same thing. 

Sam may be infected.


	20. Silence is a savior

They’re all walking along the side of the road, Dean braced between Sam and Cas. His shin had slammed forward into the console between the seats when they’d hit the tree and Castiel hopes that nothing has been broken. 

It’s slow progress forward and they’re all pointedly ignoring the pressing issue that’s making the air cloyingly thick with tension. 

 

The guilt Castiel feels is nearly suffocating. First he burns down the only home he’s ever really had, nearly killing everyone he had ever cared about in the process, and now, just as he thought he’d been making new friends, had met some honest-to-god good, moral people…

His eyes are glued to the ground as they shuffle forward. He can’t bring himself to look at Sam, at his tightly bandaged wrist where blood is still seeping through the cloth at a worrying pace. He and Cas both are soaked in the man’s blood and not only do they have to worry about Sam, Castiel is trying not to panic over the thought of whether getting Croatoan blood in his eyes can transmit the disease.

He wonders how sickened Dean must feel to have to lean on him right now. There’s no doubt that he’s beyond livid with him. He may have condemned his beloved brother after all. Castiel will never live it down if Sam turns from this. 

If he were certain that Dean and Sam could make it back on their own safely, he would have left. There’s no way he would be able to even begin apologizing. It wouldn’t be right to even try. He doesn’t deserve solace. If he could, he would turn tail and run. It would be a cowards’ move, but at least then the Winchester’s wouldn’t be stuck with him. 

Though it’s the longest period of time Castiel thinks he’s ever heard Dean go without speaking, the alpha’s still the first one to break the apprehensive silence. 

Dean taps at Sam’s shoulder, and with a low tone too casual for the situation says, “You know what this feels like?”

“Hm?” Sam responds, subdued. He doesn’t seem to really know or particularly care what Dean’s commenting on. 

“Remember when we were kids, and we didn’t want to eat mom’s green-bean casserole, and Dad got pissed off so he ordered us to sit at the table until we ate every last bite?”

Sam barely smiles wanly, lips pressed tight, and raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Sure you do.”

“No. I remember sitting down to watch the movie with them after and feeling bad that _you_ were stuck at the table because you were too stubborn to just eat your food.”

Dean frowns, thoughtful. “Oh. Well, anyways, I sat at that table for three whole hours.”

“Yeah, you threatened to sit there all night.”

“Yeah.” Dean nods dismissively. “At that point it was just a grudge. I didn’t hate mom’s casserole that much. We were just waiting to see who would give in first.”

“And eventually you did. You shoveled it in, yelled something about ‘everything being stupid’, and then marched to our room and slammed the door shut.” Sam, reminisces, a hint of a real smile peeking through. 

Dean smiles faintly in return for a moment before he sighs. “Yeah, I did. I hated it though. Going back on my word. I hate losing.”

Castiel has to fight through the lump in his throat, but he dares himself to speak up. Maybe if he doesn’t stay silent, they can get to the part where they address what had happened and dismiss him from their lives quicker. “Are you comparing our return to the camp to you having a childhood tantrum?” His voice is low and hoarse. But it doesn’t break, continuing the illusion of normalcy they’re all leaning on. 

He’s surprised when Dean squeezes his shoulder. “That I am. It may be petty, but I’m really not looking forward to their smug faces when we literally come crawling back, asking to be let back in.” 

He can feel Dean staring at him through the corner of his eye, waiting for any type of reply. So he gives him one. “You meant ‘figuratively’. In all hopes, we will be limping back, not crawling.”

Dean huffs, and Castiel’s not sure if he rolls his eyes. 

Sam replies, “Not to start a fight or anything, but you’re kind of the one who marched out. Nobody ordered you to do anything. You wouldn’t have to keep going ‘back on your word’ if you stopped giving people ultimatums.”

“Whose side are you two on?” 

Sam shakes his head. “The one that doesn’t drag me into your tantrums.”

Dean frowns deeply at his comment, but instead of choosing to address the possible aftereffects of the attack from earlier, replies with an evasive “This isn’t a tantrum!” 

It’s a few minutes later when Sam is speaking into the radio that they had grabbed from the back of the car, something they’ve been doing periodically since they started walking. “Hello? …Anyone there? …Bobby? Ellen?” The consistent intervals make the situation feel less desperate, so every ten minutes or so, they try to make contact with the camp. Sam had said they were likely less than five miles away when they had started, but they’ve had no luck so far. 

It’s their fourth time trying and Dean huffs, his unease creeping through. “Give it to me.” Sam looks reproachful, having already said that the camp would probably respond better to him, but he hands it over anyways. 

“Hey assholes! We’re kind of in a predicament here and would appreciate you getting _off of your asses_ and responding.”

Sam groans and snatches the radio back. After a moment though, they all still as they finally hear the radio crackle, coming to life. It’s static-y and the voice is distant like the connection is weak, barely in range to get the message across. 

“Hello. Hello. This is asshole responding to Sargent Dickweed. What predicament may said Dickweed be in?” 

Castiel watches as both Dean and Sam share a grateful look with each other. Dean snatches the radio back, leaning heavily on Cas to keep balance as he replies in alight tone, “Ash! My hero! Listen, we’ve kind of, uh… gotten into some trouble and would really welcome a pick-up.”

“To my best recollection, you commandeered a jeep just yesterday.”

Dean chuckles nervously, but his brows are pulling into a tight furrow. “Yeah… about that. We may be one jeep short now.”

There’s a long heavy moment of silence on the line before finally, “You’re really trying to get on Ellen’s bad side, aren’t you?” 

Dean snaps, “Would you just pass the message along?” He’s trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, but Castiel doesn’t fail to notice his worrying eyes falling to his brother.

“Roger that, Sargent Dickweed. Consider me on the case.”

A few minutes pass by where they continue to limp forward before the radio crackles to life again. This time it’s Ellen. And she sounds pissed. 

“You’ve got some nerve, Dean Winchester.” Dean grimaces like one being scolded by their mother. 

“I know, I’m sorry. But we really need someone to come pick us up ASAP. Not even ASAP, we need someone here, like, now. We’re a few miles down the South road.”

There’s a long second before Ellen responds with a clipped, “We’re on our way.” 

They all breathe a sigh of relief and Dean tucks the radio into his back pocket.

It’s quiet for a moment before Dean hesitantly looks at Cas. 

“So… you’ve kind of officially gotten me back for shooting you in the arm, huh?” Purposefully motioning his head to his gashed leg.

Castiel’s taken aback. He can’t believe that he’s trying to make a joke out of this right now. He swallows and with no amount of amusement or anger, mutely responds “That’s not funny, Dean.”

Dean’s light-heartedness dissipates slightly at Castiel’s serious tone. But he still shrugs and mumbles out, “…Kinda’ is.”

 

 

It’s not long before the grateful sight of a distant vehicle can be spotted down the road rushing towards them. They stumble to the side when it screeches to a halt beside them. 

Ellen and her daughter both hop out and all of the anger, along with any color, is gone from her face the instant she sees the state of them.

“Oh my g- what the hell happened?!” She takes a few panicked steps towards them before she suddenly halts. Jo races forward in the same manner until Ellen shoots her arm out, stopping her in her tracks in a maternal manner. 

Castiel and Jo both frown in confusion before he realizes the situation. They look like 3 characters out of a horror movie, the way they’re soaked in blood and covered in cuts. 

She’s contemplating if they’ve been infected. 

“Ellen…” Sam calls reproachfully. “I know what you’re thinking, but it happened less than an hour ago. You don’t need to worry.”

Ellen is frowning deeply, but Castiel can see the panicked, grief-stricken look in her eyes. “What exactly happened? How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Dean sighs, lets go of the grip he has on the two of them and stumbles forward two steps before distinctly stopping. Ellen watches him cautiously. “We can’t exactly prove to you when it happened, but let’s just say we’re lucky the jeep’s not completely wrapped around the tree.”

Ellen’s distrust clearly grows at the ambiguous explanation. “Dean Winchester. Do not play games with me, boy. You tell me what happened right now.” She clearly doesn’t buy that crashing the jeep is the sole reason for their injuries. 

Castiel feels his chest tighten, waiting to hear the words of what he’s done out loud.

Dean’s words are thick, like he’s fighting to keep any emotion from trickling into them. “We let our guard down and got attacked. Sam needs help. He needs help now, Ellen.” He motions towards Sam, to his bandaged wrist where blood is slowly trickling down his arm.

Cas stares at Dean’s back, wondering why he’s hiding the details of how and why it had happened. 

Ellen seems to want to believe them but she’s still staring worriedly. Dean quickly reaches down to thigh holster, at which point both Ellen and Jo raise their own weapons. Jo looks petrified at the idea of pointing her gun at them and Dean splays his hands widely. “Woah, Woah. I’m moving slowly, see?” He gradually reaches down again and uses his thumb and forefinger to undo the clasp and hold his own out in clear view. He tosses it forward and it slides across the ground between them. Sam and Castiel quickly follow suite in taking out their weapons and tossing them forward. 

 

The three of them are squished in the backseat of the car as they drive back. Jo’s sitting passenger, her gun held stiffly in her hands while she watches them like a hawk, a worried crease in her forehead. 

Castiel doesn’t know why he didn’t take the chance to leave. With the brothers back in their Camp’s hands, surely he could have easily gone off on his own. But he hadn’t.

Dean’s in the middle, in a sort of trance as he stares at his clasped hands in front of him. Castiel finds that no matter how many times he swallows, the lump of guilt will not be budged. 

They drive through the fence and down the ramp into the supply storage, where Castiel hadn’t realized a door on a pulley system existed. 

He feels disconnected as they all quickly move out of the car and back into the maze of hallways he had fought so hard to leave. There’s commotion around them with Ellen yelling out orders and people moving this-way-and-that, many who seem to be indecisive of moving closer to see what’s going on or backing away at the sight of so much blood. 

At one point he sees Meg and distantly hears her shocked, quiet, “Oh fuck.” as they pass her in the hall. 

He’s half-waiting for someone to stop him, to say that they’ll take it from here and that it’s time for him to leave. Instead, he finds all three of them being ushered into the Waiting room. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Ellen’s saying, “Should I split you three up? I don’t know if we have that many rooms. I could kick someone out of theirs…”

“We’re not going anywhere.” Dean replies sternly, stepping closer to his brother. Ellen glances at him and Castiel is shocked beyond words when Dean reaches out and pulls him closer as well with a determined look. 

Ellen’s frowning, but she nods. A minute later Jess rushes into the room. The supplies in her arms drop to the ground, the sound of it loud as they all fall silent. “Sam!” 

He averts his eyes when she embraces him, not able to watch, especially when he hears a dry sob break from her and Sam’s low voice trying to comfort her. 

“It’s going to be… It’s… I’m-” Sam seems unable to finish his sentence, not wanting to make her false promises. 

She steps back and rubs her hands over her face, and though her lip is wobbling, she tries to stem her tears. “How bad?” 

“He just got me once.” He lifts up his wrist. “I’m guessing about an hour ago.” He swallows and Dean’s the one to finally say it.

“We don’t know if the blade was clean.” 

Castiel’s line of sight is focused beyond their shoulders, which is how he accidently spots Ellen’s face breaking, her fears officially confirmed. She bows her head and quietly excuses herself from the room. 

His senses feel dulled, like he’s having an out of body experience. He doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to face this. But he also doesn’t want to be anywhere else. He deserves this. 

Dean softly grabs at his shoulder, and when Castiel looks at him, he’s confused to see the concerned, worried stare. “Cas.” Is all he says, motioning with his head. 

It’s only now that Castiel recognizes that he’d nearly been digging the nails of his hand into his scabbed-over bullet wound. He lets go and suddenly air fills his lungs. He hadn’t realized that he’d been holding his breath. 

The door creaks open and Bobby slowly enters, his eyes glancing between all of them. Dean and Cas are both standing off to the side as Sam sits on the bed, letting Jess fuss over him and treat his injury. 

“Was he the only one to take a knife?” Bobby’s gruff voice is low enough for only them to hear. 

Dean doesn’t look away from his brother, doesn’t answer. 

Castiel forces himself to meet the older man’s gaze and, remorsefully, nods. 

Several minutes tick by. Bobby says, “You two should get outta’ here.”

Dean jerkily shakes his head. “I’m not leaving.” 

“There’s only two outcomes from this. You don’t want to be here if…” He trails off, and Castiel is saddened to see the troubled, haunting look in the weathered face. “I’ll watch him. You shouldn’t be here to see it if it happens.”

“I said I’m not leaving!” Dean snaps, his voice loud enough to silence the room again. 

Bobby’s jaw ticks, but his only answer is to lift his ball-cap and run a tired hand through his wispy hair before he replaces it. He looks at Castiel again. 

“What about you?” 

Castiel tilts his head, not understanding. 

“The less people in here, probably the better. If you want I can take you somewhere else. ‘Make sure no one messes with ya.” 

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s probably for the best if I stay. I may have gotten blood in my eye.” 

Bobby lets out a long exhale of air. A second later, Dean’s twisting him around. “You what?!” 

At Dean’s stunned stare, it takes a moment for Castiel to find his voice. “Yes, I… I got covered in it. My eyes were already stinging from the smoke, I have no idea if it was from blood as well. I didn’t exactly take the time to check.”

Dean takes a silent step back and shakes his head, eyes rising desperately to the ceiling. Castiel hears Bobby step out of the room behind him, but he doesn’t look. He’s too busy watching how Dean’s jaw clenches simultaneously with his fingers, how his throat swallows. How he looks down at his brother for a solid moment before the calm he’d been carrying finally shatters.

His voice cracks as he shouts, “Fuck!” and he turns, punching the wall, aggression pouring through the motion. 

Castiel takes a stuttering step back, shocked by Dean’s sudden shift in behavior and the pure hostility of it.

Dean manages to take a second swing before Sam reaches him, forcefully turning him around by his shoulders. Castiel’s heart is racing too fast to hear the heated words the brothers’ share. All of the energy seems to drain out of Dean in one swift move and he leans back against the wall, breathing deeply.

Him and Sam exchange a few more words between their bowed heads until Dean nods, turning his head to the side, like he can’t look at his brother anymore. He slides down the wall until he’s sitting and then runs a dirty hand through his ragged hair. 

Sam sighs, shoulders sagging. He looks at Jess and gives Cas a small, dejected smile. It only makes Castiel feel worse. 

Sam flops down on the ground next to his brother. “I guess all there is to do now is wait.” 

“I’ll wait with you.” Jess jumps off the bed and moves to sit down next to him. As soon as Sam starts to protest she gives him a stern, unmoving look. “I’m waiting with you.” Her tone leaves no room for debate as she slides down to the ground beside him and interweaves her hand with Sam’s. 

Castiel stands off to the side. His heart is heavy and it aches. It aches so much that he wishes he had never met the Winchesters.


	21. A Tattered Time Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I wonder how many people have actually kept up with the story so far. I'm stuck between writing everything I had plot-lined out or shortening it for the sake of story-length. There's so much more I have planned.

It’s most likely been another hour. The three of them are still sitting on the ground and Cas has moved to the end of the bed, only a few feet away. 

They’ve spoken intermittently, but for the most part they’ve been trying to avoid anything to address it, anything that would make the situation more stressful than it already is. 

 

Except Dean, who’s still simmering.

“I shouldn’t have blown his head off. It was too easy of a way out. Should’ve made him pay for what he did.”

Castiel’s demeanor remains forlorn, and he’s quiet as he hesitantly speaks. “He wasn’t cognizant of his actions. He attacked out of instinct.-”

Dean reacts so fast, hand slapping hard against the tile below him, that they all flinch. “ _Don’t_ fucking defend him!” 

“Don’t yell at him. It’s not his fault.”

Castiel flinches. The words freeze somewhere near his core and Castiel’s chest aches just the bit more, knowing that it’s a lie.

Minutes pass before Dean heatedly whispers, “I know. I know it’s not his fault, okay?”

 

But after a moment when Dean realizes that Cas is till staring down at the ground, despondent, the festering anger burning through his veins stutters. He tilts his head up more to get a better look at the omega, which for the most part, has been relatively silent since the crash.

“Cas?” When the other shows no notion of acknowledging him, he repeats himself, voice a little less certain. “…Cas?” Those weary blue eyes finally turn to him and he swallows at the despairing, dull look of them. “…You know that, right? It’s not your fault.” 

Cas only looks away again, staying silent. 

He doesn’t have the energy to investigate it further right now. Dean’s head drops down to stare at the space between his bent legs. 

He doesn’t know how things could get any more fucked. He knows there’s no sense in acting irrationally angry. And despite his words, there really is a small, rotten tinge of blame in the back of his head. A quiet, hollow voice that wants to fault someone for the situation. That almost sounds accusing as he remembers the way they had shared each other’s breath, had taken comfort in each other, just the night before. It’s hard not to when he can still see the evidence of the attack on both of the other men in the room, the way the front of their clothes are still covered red. The way his leg and head still dully throb with pain. 

But he knows that it’s senseless. There was nothing they could do to change what had been done. But the anger was the only thing keeping the panic away. 

If Sam turns, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. And that is in the most honest sense of the thought. It’s always been him and Sam. A week ago, he’d even admitted out loud that it was ‘Him and Sam against the world.’ He’d always thought that, no matter what, he would always find a way to somehow protect his brother. That he would always be there to take the knife or bullet for him when it came. 

But he hadn’t been fast enough.

He doesn’t want to contemplate it, but there’s only so much time left before they find out if he’s been infected. His mind blanks at the idea. There’s no way he’d ever be able to shoot his brother. And he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to allow someone else to do it either. Not to his little brother. Not to Sammy. 

He can’t think of it any longer. He wants to stay open-minded, that somehow his prayers up to a silent heaven will finally be heard. That everything will turn out to be okay.

He can’t think of it any longer. He’s afraid that he may just be moments from snapping when Cas saves him by quietly asking, “Jo, have you seen Balthazar?”

Both of the Winchesters still and look to her, remembering the odd situation they had left behind.

Jess looks guilty as she slowly shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. We only noticed that he wasn’t here late last night. We were kind of hoping that he had somehow ended up going with you.”

Cas gulps and looks away towards the far wall, eyes filled with silent worry.

Sam hesitantly says “Maybe…Maybe he got angry at what happened and decided to take a walk. Outside of the Camp. It would explain why his room was trashed.”

Castiel doesn’t look hopeful. 

Dean doesn’t want them to focus on it. There’s only so much drama they can deal with at one time. So instead, he does what he does best, and diverts. “So. How are we going to get ahold of the diary?”

There’s a surprised pause of confused silence before Sam says, uncertainly, “…Alastair’s’?”

“No, yours. Yes, _of course_ , Alastair’s. We need to find the password to his Girl Tech Journal.” 

Sam and Cas both share a look, uncertain about the topic. 

“Girl Tech Journal? Dean, I’m not sure if I should be impressed or appalled that you remember those.” Jess clearly has no idea what Dean’s getting at but she makes the effort to lean around Sam and smirk nonetheless. 

Dean’s nose twitches at the teasing tone but he shrugs. “Hey, don’t knock ‘em. Those things were revolutionary.”

The casual conversation feels like a lie. Castiel is nearly glad this time though to hear Dean’s false light-heartedness as opposed to his aggressive anger from before. But he’s not sure if Dean actually thinks it’s a conversation worth having. Even if Sam turns out fine, would Dean seriously still be interested in trying out the plan they had mentioned before?

Though of course, both of the Winchesters had carried a deep grudge against the beta before Castiel had come along. It would make sense that they would still be interested in bringing him down if things turn out for the best. 

After a few minutes, Sam shrugs and jumps into the topic. “We just have to figure out where it is and grab it when he’s not around.” 

“So just to be clear here, you guys are wanting to steal… a diary from Alastair?” Jess gives them an unbelieving, amused look. 

“Yeah. Want in?”

“I don’t know if you should really be instigating anything right now. Don’t you want things from the other night to cool down?”

“Fuck that.”

Sam frowns at Dean. Dean shrugs.

“I don’t care if the camp’s wanting to ignore everything that that prick has done. We’re going to look around, see if we can get anything substantial on him that will legitimize how much of a bastard he is. And if we can’t…” He shrugs again. “We’re getting rid of him either way. End of story.”

Jess frowns. She drums her fingers along the tiled floor. After a moment, she nods, sighing. “Alright. I guess you can count me in.”

“Thatta’ girl.” Dean grins. 

“You might have to wait awhile though. They left yesterday on a trip.”

Sam frowns. “Who did?”

“Alastair, Azazel, Ruby, Gordon, and Meg. They headed out just a few hours after you guys did.” 

It’s not much, but Castiel feels a twinge of relief at the news. At least he doesn’t have to immediately worry about any of them having to deal with the imminent confrontation. He wonders why they would have such luck at having so many confrontational people leaving at once.

Dean looks confused and unsettled. “We didn’t have a trip planned. Where did they go?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure. I just saw them as they passed down the hall. ‘Looked like they were in a bit of a hurry though. I think I overheard Ellen say that Azazel had said they would return by tomorrow.” 

Dean’s still frowning but he nods slowly. “Alright… then that probably gives us enough time to search through his room. That is, if he left it unlocked.”

Sam snorts. “Doubtful.”

“When you saw them leave, was Alastair carrying a small backpack?” When Jess tilts her head questioningly, Cas continues, “It’s a small black pack with thin straps. He often carries it around.”

She looks away contemplating, “I can’t say for sure, but I think I may have. It seems familiar.”

Castiel sighs. “I have a feeling he usually carries it in there, which most likely means he has it with him.”

Dean groans. “Then we’ll just have to get ahold of it when he comes back. He can’t really carry it around with him 24/7. I would have noticed that by now.”

“I’ve seen him carry it. I just never really though anything of it before.” Sam says.

Dean scowls. “Seriously? Am I just that oblivious? I don’t remember it at all.” 

Sam smirks. “Like I’ve said before, you kind of ignore anyone you don’t really like. Honestly, haven’t you ever heard of _‘keep your enemies closer?_ ” 

“Is that why you keep sticking around?” Dean half-grins playfully. Jess at least has the decency to chuckle. 

The conversation begins to dwindle again. Every now and again they participate in some form of surface talk. 

There’s almost a small sense of silent hope building when another hour passes by. And then Sam abruptly asks Jess to go wait out in the hall. 

“What? Why?!” She looks hurt, but underneath it there’s instantly a sense of panic. 

Dean is suddenly still on his other side, staring intently at Sam’s face. 

Sam runs a hand roughly over his forehead, and when he removes it, it comes away slightly damp with sweat. 

“Just… I would feel more comfortable if you weren’t here.” His eyes are trained somewhere near Castiel’s feet, resolutely ignoring the shocked look on the blonde’s face.

“I said I’m not leaving you. If … if you’re not feeling right, just tell me.”

“I feel fine, now would you just go?!” Sam’s head snaps up, scowling. Jess flinches back, and her look of hurt only increases. 

“Sam…” Dean’s voice is low and near emotionless, but Sam turns to scowl at him for a moment before he tersely stands up. He looks remorseful for a small moment before he frowns down at Jess, and finally his brows crease in guilt. 

“I know you think you’re doing the right thing by staying here, but there’s nothing you can do here. It’s not comforting to me. I just want you to leave.” 

She quickly follows his lead in standing up, but she doesn’t turn to the door. “You’re just saying that. You don’t mean it.” 

Castiel’s chest is tightening in anxiety as he watches Sam turn, probably about to retort something but instead he sways slightly to the side and quickly crouches down to press a balled fist to his head in obvious discomfort.

Dean straightaway stands up in concern and Jess reaches his side, already muttering for him to sit down. 

Instead, Sam instantly snaps back up and glares at her. “For once, would you just listen to me and _leave?!_ ”

She stumbles back, and it seems that they all take a short intake of breath at Sam’s remark. 

Castiel may not have known him for very long, but the action does not coincide with Sam’s usual demeanor. He’s surprised to find that he can almost _feel_ Sam’s irritation, a tangy scent wafting over.

Jess’s mouth is parted in shock as she stares at him, her eyes on the verge of forming tears. She swallows and nods. “O-okay. If…if that’s what you want.” Her eyes drift to Dean, but he’s just staring at his brother, lips pressed into a tight line. 

She turns and leaves the room, barely holding in the upset she clearly feels. 

As soon as she’s gone, Sam’s shoulders sag. He’s staring down at the ground with what looks like a mix of aggravation and shame. 

It’s several minutes before Dean speaks, his voice hoarse with apprehension. “Sam?”

The younger continues to avoid the others’ stare for several minutes before finally his chest expands as he heaves in a stuttering breath. He looks up at his brother and Castiel can’t will himself to look away. 

He’s never seen anyone turn. He doesn’t know the symptoms, or the sequence of events that preludes them. But he does know the virus is one based in anger. 

Sam doesn’t seem to want to speak. It appears as if it takes everything in him to finally mutter the short, stiff words. “I saw the blade. Before he got me. It was bloody.” 

Dean does a good job of covering the dismay that engulfs him. He shakes his head jerkily. “That doesn’t mean anything. It could’ve been someone who was uninfected. His last victim. It doesn’t mean-“

“Dean.” Sam’s eyes are hard. “Even if it wasn’t. There’s no way his blood didn’t get into the cut when he fell on me.” He holds out his arms, displaying the way that he’s still covered in crusted, drying blood. “We all know it. But nobody’s willing to just say it.” 

Dean opens his mouth, willing any words to come to the surface that would rebuke Sam’s claim, but none come. His lips twist into a pained, distressed grimace as his eyes once again rake over his brother’s, and then Cas’, clothes. 

“If I hadn’t of shot him…”

“Even if that weren’t the case, we have no way of knowing about the knife.” Sam splays a hand, trying to give his brother solace. “If you hadn’t of shot him, then he may have managed to get loose and stab the both of us.”

His eyes trail back down, his entire manner dejected but resolute, as if he’d spent the last three hours coming to terms with his situation. 

Castiel is off to the side, frozen. It feels like any movement from him would be intrusive. The least he can do is give the brothers the illusion of privacy. He once again is left with the feeling that he should have ran for it, deep into the woods, when Ellen had come. He’s always in the way.

It’s quiet again for a long time. Dean doesn’t know what to say. He’s trying to keep any hint of the overwhelming feeling of panic and grief from showing on his face. He doesn’t want Sam to have to worry about him right now. 

Sam groans and crouches down again, this time pressing a hand to his neck. His face quickly pales. 

“Sam? What’s wrong?” Dean’s immediately limps over to his side. When Sam shakes his head, unwilling to speak Dean almost growls. “I don’t care what’s going through your head right now. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Sam scowls at the ground for a second before he groans. “I don’t know, I feel sick.” 

Dean glances over to Cas, his brows creased in worry. “What kind of sick?” Sam just shrugs. “I never saw Errol or Jack or any of them get sick.” 

Sam snorts, but his voice is not amused. “Thanks for the PSA, Dean. But that doesn’t change the fact that…” He trails off, and his face drops to an even paler color. He lurches up and rushes past Dean into the bathroom. Instantly, the sound of sick fills the room and Dean’s face does a near imitation to Sam’s. He rushes to follow him.

Castiel is left alone on the bed, body still as stone. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t think that there’s anything he can do, but he doesn’t feel it’s right to continue sitting there while Sam’s in such distress. His stomach twists in unease as he approaches closer to the two. 

“Is this normal?” Castiel hesitantly asks from the corner of the bathroom’s doorway. Dean’s leaning over his brother’s form, hand pressed against his warm forehead. Sam’s face has done a 180, now a disturbingly pink tint and sweat is accumulating on his skin at a rapid pace. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so? He’s burning up.” He shakes his head, looking lost. He grabs a washcloth on the counter and wets it in the sink before wiping it over Sam’s face as the younger leans back against the porcelain bowl and moans out pitifully. 

“Sam?”

He just grimaces and shakes his head a bit, the small motion of it causes his face to pale a few shades before the red tint returns with a vengeance. “Oh god…” Sam moans out and he lays down without finesse onto the tiled ground, curling in on himself. “Everything feels like it’s on fire. Pinpricks and fire.” 

Dean’s upset deeply at the words and with the fact that he has no idea what to do. “…Maybe we should let Jess back in after all?” He mumbles, staring down at his brother who’s dangerously close to the fetal position. 

“No. Don’t you dare.” Sam orders, though his words are muffled by his face being pressed to the, no doubt, cold ground. 

Dean darts out of the bathroom and grab’s Castiel’s arm, pulling him with him. His eyes are stuck to his brother’s body as he desperately says “Cas, I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen someone react like this before. What-?” He pulls at his hair. 

Castiel hates this. He hates seeing Dean lost with panic, hates seeing Sam in such pain even more so but he’s just as lost and confused. 

“Dean.” Sam weakly calls and Dean’s at his side in an instant. “It’s really freaking cold in here.” His eyes are scrunched shut and there’s goose bumps spreading across his arms. 

Dean presses his hand against his forehead again, even though he knows nothing’s changed. “No, it’s just you. You’re burning up like a furnace. We need to get you cooled down.”

Sam scowls at the words and without opening his eyes calls out, “Cas, get me a damn blanket, would you?” 

Castiel stands there uncertain, looking between the both of them before he makes up his mind. He quickly leaves and returns with a thin sheet collected from the bed. Whatever Sam is going through, if a blanket will make him feel more comfortable, than he’s not above giving it to him. 

And Dean doesn’t really object to it. 

Sam only continues to worsen. His shoulders start to shake and his moans of pain come quicker. Dean doesn’t last long before he turns to Castiel and orders him to stay put and keep an eye on his brother. 

“Of course.” Castiel replies without missing a beat. He doesn’t know exactly what Dean is running, or at least as close to running as you can get with a limp, out of the door for, but he doesn’t waste any time in kneeling down by Sam’s side. He reaches an arm out and rests it on Sam’s shoulder. He’s not sure if Sam finds it comforting but he diligently stays by the Winchester’s side, eyes continually roaming over his features in search of any change. 

The only change is Sam’s increasingly rising temperature and the amount of sweat drenching his gray shirt. Castiel grabs the washcloth and re-wets it, placing it softly on Sam’s forehead again just as he releases another low, miserable moan. 

“This isn’t fair.” Sam’s words are rough, clipped with his harsh breathing. “Nobody else looked like they were in pain when it happened to them.” 

Castiel keeps his mouth shut. Sam is right. It isn’t fair and it makes no sense. 

Dean comes flying back into the room, the door rebounding off the wall with a loud bang. He falls to his knees next to Castiel and unscrews the lid to a medicine bottle. His hands slightly shake as a few pills fall out and he holds them along with a water bottle out to Sam. “Here take these.”

Sam’s eyebrows crease, refusing to open his eyes. 

“Sam, come on. They’re pain pills. Just take them.” 

Sam almost seems like he’s going to continue to ignore him but then he shakily untangles a hand out from underneath the blanket. He swallows them down. 

A minute later he lurches up and pukes back into the toilet. 

“Fuck.” Dean shakily says. His hands are trembling. “ _Fuck_ ” He repeats, this time hoarser. 

Sam’s teeth start to chatter as his quivering form slightly jerks. 

“This can’t be right.” Dean whispers, head shaking back and forth. “It wasn’t fucking right before but this is _wrong_. It doesn’t work this way. Something’s going wrong.”

Sam lets out a mindless whine. He brings his hands up, and Dean and Cas both are horrified when he starts raking his nails into his cheeks. Dean is on top of him, yanking his hands away and pulling him up into a sitting position. “Sam! Quit it!” Sam doesn’t react well. 

He shoots forward, both hands planting on Dean’s chest and he _shoves_ him away with all the strength that’s always been hinted behind that large, intimidating frame. 

Cas panics when Dean flies onto the sink’s counter top, the mirror behind him splintering into a hundred pieces. He races forward, prepared to try to halt him if Sam chooses to go for an attack. 

Instead, Sam kicks out at him, but it’s more of a defensive move. Castiel unsurely pauses as Sam scoots away from him until his back hits the far wall. He bends over until his head rests on his knees and he crosses his arms, nails digging through his damp shirt into the skin of his shoulders. He’s panting. Nearly hyperventilating. 

Castiel glances at him when Dean comes to stand beside him. His jaw is twitching, lips drawn into a deep frown and Castiel’s pounding heart finds the time to clench painfully at the excruciating look in Dean’s eyes, so hurt that it looks like he’s being torn from the inside out. 

“Sam.” Dean’s voice breaks. “Sam, you have to stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Sam has no reaction to his words. If anything, he seems to digs his nails in deeper. Another shudder racks through his body and he groans. 

“Cas.” Dean’s voice is barely audible now. “Go find someone. We need something to tie him down with.” His words are emotionless. 

 

He feels like he’s having an out of body experience as he stumbles down the hall. Two turns down and he finds Chuck, who looks shocked to see him. He relays the message. 

It takes ten minutes to get Sam out of the bathroom. Cas, Dean, Chuck, and Bobby are all struggling to keep Sam pressed to the mattress as they tie his limbs down to the frame. As they do, he can see Dean, can recognize the look of him trying to distance his mind from the situation. 

Cas throat is clogged. His mind is blank. Bobby stays with them this time when the door to the room closes. The only sound is of Sam huffing and groaning, his body intermittently arching off the bed. 

Dean stands by the bedside, hands hanging limply, uselessly at his sides. He barely blinks as his gaze cements itself to the image of his brother writhing below him. 

Cas only feels like he can breathe again when two hours later, Sam seems to fall into unconsciousness. 

The room remains silent.


	22. Reprieve of Suppression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Thank you Thank you Th-  
> For all of the wonderful comments! You have no idea how much I appreciate them. It may sound petty but they're almost the only motivation to keep writing lately. The storyline has been played out in my head for like a year, so writing it out just for the sake of writing it loses it's glamour after awhile when you're not sure who's still reading. 
> 
> This chapter's short because it's been split into two. Because tropes exist for a reason. You'll see.

“It just doesn’t make sense.” Dean whispers dully, three long hours later, finally breaking the unending silence. He and Cas are sitting against the wall, mirroring each other side by side with their knees drawn up, watching Sam’s sleeping form. 

“I know.” Castiel whispers back. 

“Nobody has ever reacted like that. It’s abnormal. I don’t know what it means.”

“I know.”

Dean’s face pinches, just slightly at the words. Castiel lets out a breath at the inevitable grief finally beginning to break through despite the cold detachment Dean had been so desperately clinging on to. 

Sam doesn’t seem to be simply unconscious anymore. More of a restless, deep sleep. He’s still sweating and his head slightly jerks to the side every few minutes, but Castiel thinks it’s still better than the limp, motionless form from earlier. 

He’s glad that Dean has broken his silence. Perhaps it is due to the fact that it’s fairly clear now that Castiel is safe. That he won’t turn. Maybe it’s more due to Dean being unable to keep everything bottled up inside anymore. 

Castiel’s relief at not turning isn’t as overwhelming as he thought it’d be. But at least now Dean doesn’t have to worry about anyone else but his brother. 

He wants to be helpful. Useful. This is his fault and he wants to find a way to lessen the tragedy happening. He can’t turn back time and undo it. So he instead wishes that he could manage to take away even an ounce of Dean’s crushing pain. But he’s having trouble finding his words, and words seem to be the only thing he can offer now.

It takes another ten minutes before Cas manages to finally voice the thought that has been ringing around in his mind for some time now. 

“Dean…” His voice is subdued, and he cautiously reaches out a hand and shakily rests it on the other’s lower thigh, hoping beyond hope that he’ll find the action comforting. “That was awful. I know.”

“Do you?” Dean’s words are sharp and clipped, the hoarse bitterness lacing through them.

“I’m not going to pretend that I have anywhere close to an inkling of the hurt you’re going through.” He swallows and powers through Dean’s resenting tone, words slow and hesitant, “I do not wish to raise your hopes in any way…” He trails off and Dean, after hours of numbly staring ahead, finally drags his exhausted gaze, nearly managing to meet Castiel’s.

He drags in a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s happening to Sam. I don’t like it. It is horrible. But there’s always a chance… you said it yourself, nobody has ever reacted this way, but perhaps this could be a… a good thing.”

Dean’s gaze hardens, and the look he shoots Cas is somewhere between confusion and revulsion. “How, in any _goddamn_ way, could this be good?” 

Castiel tries hard not to look at the ground, instead staring directly into those troubled, green eyes. “The way his body reacted… the fever and the vomiting… it …almost looked similar to how your body would usually react when faced with a lethal illness.” 

“What are you trying to say?” Dean’s expression is still pained though he seems to get an idea of what Cas could be implying. Castiel can see that despite his best efforts, the tiniest glimmer of desperate hope flashes through before Dean frowns, and turns his face towards Sam again. This time, his voice is even quieter, more tentative than Castiel has ever heard him speak. “You think… that his body could possibly be trying to resist it? Fighting the virus off?”

Castiel grimaces. He knows that he probably shouldn’t have said anything at all. But it doesn’t seem right to keep something like this to himself. “I don’t know if it could ever work. But possibly. Maybe the fever was his body’s way of attempting to burn it out.”

Dean scowls at the ground and softly shakes his head. “But it doesn’t make sense.” He repeats. “Why. How could, after everyone who’s been infected. Why would Sam be the one to react differently.”

“Who knows.” Bobby’s gruff voice makes them both blink, almost having forgotten he was there.

Dean doesn’t reply. Instead, they lapse back into silence. 

Two hours later, Jess gently pushes the door open and creeps into the room. They take the small bag of food she hands over and the water, but none of them actually eat. She glances at the door, but Castiel’s not surprised when instead she slowly approaches Sam. Dean’s jaw twitches, like he’s about to say something when she gently sits on the edge of the bed, but instead he just dully looks at the ground. 

Castiel’s tired, but he can’t bring himself to fall asleep. The idea of trying to turns his stomach. Bobby gets up to do a lap around the building, to stretch his legs once or twice. Castiel instead refuses to move. It’s nothing at all, but the twinge in his knees feels like it belongs there. Like he doesn’t deserve to move.

Two more hours later, Jess is gently brushing Sam’s bangs out of his eyes and brushing a wet cloth across his forehead. It feels like all of the air is sucked out of the room when Sam groans more clearly than he has in hours. His Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow and his eyelids flutter. Jess snaps her hand away and pulls it to her chest like she’s been burned, a small panic in her eye. 

Dean stays rooted to the ground, nearly a statue as Sam’s eyes finally open. Sam looks dazedly around him, like his vision is blurry and he can’t figure out where he is. His hands pull against the rope tying his hands to the bedframe and he glances up at them, even more confused. He gaze rolls over Jess above him and finds his brother’s across the room. 

A few minutes pass before, “Dean?” He questions, voice hoarse and rough.

Dean swallows, expression stuck between guarded and hopeful. “Sam?”

“What happened? Why..?” He lightly pulls against the ropes again for emphasis and glances around the room again. 

“You don’t remember?” Bobby asks.

Sam’s eyebrows draw together, blank for a moment, before recognition hits. “What…what did I do? Did I… do something? Did I hurt someone?” His voice croaks, worry wide in his eyes. 

“No.” Dean answers quietly. “Do you remember the bathroom?”

Sam’s body falls limp and he stares up at the ceiling. His face is blank. “I remember… puking. Into the toilet.”

“Nothing after that?”

“No. What happened?”

Dean shrugs, stiff. “You just kind’a freaked out. How are you feeling?” Dean’s voice is still guarded, like he won’t let himself believe that Sam’s genuine, that he’s still completely himself.

“Like shit.” Sam answers roughly. He’s avoiding looking at Jess, whose hard stare is focused on him. 

“We can’t let you up.” Bobby says.

“I know.” Sam simply replies. He continues to stare at the ceiling. “How long has it been?”

Dean’s lips are pursed, un-answering, so Castiel replies for him.

“Over seven hours since you blacked out. Over nine since you were cut.”

Sam swallows and shakily nods. “Okay. …Okay.” Another shudder that has his shoulders jerking works it’s way through him. This time his voice comes out small and scared. “Why am I still okay? Why am…” _Why am I still here? Cognizant? Alive?”_

“That’s a good question.” Bobby says. 

Jess brings a hesitant hand forward again and brushes a sweaty strand of hair from his forehead. “Are you hungry?”

Sam doesn’t look away from the ceiling. “No.”

 

*

 

Some time later, they finally bring themselves to swallow something down. Two or three of the camp members stop by to see how Sam’s doing. None of them stay for very long. 

The night-lights are switched on, the underlying hum of the generators dimming. Castiel’s cot is still set up and he let’s Jess take it for the night, dragging it up close to Sam’s bedside. 

Bobby brings them some hand towels to wipe themselves down, a fresh change of clothes, some blankets and pillows and turns in for the night.  
They both set up side by side in the remaining space between Jess and the wall. Another two quiet hours pass before Castiel tensely lies down. Eventually Dean follows him. It’s a tight squeeze but Castiel stays close to the wall, looking out towards the room.

He knows Dean doesn’t really get any sleep. He’s not sure if anyone manages more than a few minutes here or there. 

Sam still shudders every now and then, and Jess is struggling to get him to drink enough water to stray away from deep dehydration. 

Time drags. Over the course of the night’s hours, Sam surprisingly seems to slowly grow apathetic to the seriousness of the situation. Perhaps he is too exhausted to keep up the stress-levels of everyone else. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that he seems to slowly be getting annoyed at having such an attentive audience watching the every twitch of his body. 

At about 4 a.m. Sam mentions that Jess and Dean would probably get more sleep if they were in their own beds. _”Then Cas could sleep on the cot too.”_

Dean’s jaw sets at the suggestion and says he’s not sleepy. They stay.

At about 6 a.m. Sam suggests that they go try and get some breakfast since nothing’s going on. Maybe somebody has opened the kitchen up. Even Castiel’s eyebrows crease as he hears the hidden earnestness to the words. 

Dean says he’s not hungry. They stay. 

The day-lights switch on. 

Dean’s standing against the wall, arms crossed. Jess and Cas are still resting on their bed sheets. Half an hour passes by before Sam huffs. His voice more than hints at real agitation, his eyes are glued once again to the ceiling.

“Alastair and them will probably be getting back any time now. You’re loosing your chance to search his room.”

“His room will be locked.”

“You don’t know that until you check.” 

Jess stands up quietly from the cot, finally giving in to the clear disappointment she’s experiencing from Sam’s continued refusal to meet her eyes. “I’ll go see.” 

Nobody tries to stop her as she leaves. As soon as she steps out Sam irritably grumbles, “Great. Just great.”

“Why do you keep trying to get us to leave?” Dean finally snaps, glaring accusingly at Sam. 

Sam grits his teeth. “Because I don’t know if I can handle you looking at me like that any longer!” He snaps back just as fast. He turns to glare back at his brother. “Do you have any idea how depressing it is to have you watching me like that? Like I’m about to turn into a monster at any second?”

Castiel swallows at his simmering attitude. Last night’s events make the words haunting. Before then, the only time Cas had ever heard Sam snap was when it was directed at Alastair. And even then, it wasn’t the same tone as now. Castiel looks down at the ground guiltily. It’s also probably a terrible feeling to have your most loved ones sitting there, just waiting for you to break their hearts. 

Dean’s scowls, but he does look away to the far wall. 

Cas doesn’t really want to, but for Sam’s sake he starts to say, “Dean, maybe we could just-.” He mouth snaps shut at the vehement glare he receives.

Fifteen minutes later, Jess comes rushing into the room, a little out of breath. She points out the door. “His room was locked. But they just returned. I-whew.” She takes a needed breath in and continues, “I saw them come in and leave their personal bags in the locker room. They just went out to start unloading the Jeep.”

They all look at her in confusion. And despite Dean’s continued mood, he raises an eyebrow, “You peeping in the locker room?”

She glares. “I saw them go in with their bags and leave _without_ them.”

Dean waits, but Castiel catches on. “Alastair’s bag.”

She nods. “This is your chance.”

Dean opens and closes his mouth, and then pointedly motions his head towards Sam, not moving.

Sam rolls his eyes, annoyed. “No, seriously. Go take it.” He gives his brother an almost earnest look. “ _Please._. Fifteen minutes won’t kill you. Or me. If I- if something happens, which it _won’t_ ,” He rattles the ropes, “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

Dean looks up to the ceiling and closes his eyes. After a long moment he ultimately sighs. Sam breathes a sigh in relief and his shoulders relax. He’s won.

“ _Ten_ minutes. Short and quick. Then we’ll be back.”

Sam nods, “Yeah, fine. _Swell_.” 

 

Dean nods, though he looks like he doesn’t mean it. Instantly he switches gears, quickly striding out of the room, motioning for Cas and Jess to follow. Castiel stumbles when he stands, his stiff knees protesting.

They’re making quick time turning through the halls. Castiel simply listens as Jess and Dean come up with a plan. 

“Me and Cas will go in and search for the book, since maybe they haven’t been told that we’re back yet. Jess, you keep watch. You see them approaching then, I don’t know, knock or hoot or something.”

She gives him a dubious look. “Hoot? Like an owl?” 

“Wouldn’t that be counterproductive to being inconspicuous?”

Dean ignores them both, flippantly waving away their comments with a superfluous frown. Castiel can mentally hear Dean’s trademark _’You know what I mean.’_ and he feels the smallest of weights try to lift from his chest at the familiarity of it.

He lets his attention narrow in on the mission, almost guiltily grateful for something to distract him from the odd behavior of Sam in the holding room. He doesn’t know what it means, if Sam’s truly just agitated, if it’s aftereffects from the night before, or -most worryingly- if due to the virus he has double intentions. 

Castiel almost walks into the others’ backs when they both suddenly stop and he realizes that they must be near their destination. Jess looks around the corner cautiously before she motions her hand and stalks forward. 

Castiel follows Dean to a blue metal door where he presses his ear against it, listening for a moment before slowly pushing it open. He nods to Jess who waits outside as they creep in. 

 

Castiel has never seen it before, but the room doesn’t look like anything special. There are four rows of tall semi-large lockers, but they’re saved the hassle of having to look through them. Right in the middle of them, there’s a larger space where a few small benches sit with a small pile of bags thrown haphazardly across them. 

Dean doesn’t waste any time in unzipping the first one he reaches. Castiel tries to be just as quick, but his eyes keep trailing the room like he’s waiting for someone to walk around the corner. His eyes fall to a second door he can spot in the corner of the opposite wall from where they came. “Where does that lead to?”

Dean spares him a glance as he zips the bag closed and reaches for the next. “Back hallway. Don’t waste time stressing about it. Let’s just get this done before they come back.” He dismisses him.

Castiel tries not to dwell on the fact that Dean didn’t deny that nobody would come in through that way. He delves into their mission, but instead of checking every bag he comes across, he searches specifically for any that resembles Alastair’s. He can only remember that it was dark, and shaped like a regular backpack, which really only rules out two of the eight bags. “I believe his notebook was tan and a little thin. It had a spiral spine.” Dean nods.

It’s not like it takes that long to go through them. But the process of leafing through the contents without completely disrupting the organization of them makes it feel like they’re taking too long. Dean’s on his third when the bag at the end of the pile catches Castiel’s eye. It looks more familiar than the rest. He drops the one in his hands to pick it up. “Dean.”

Dean pauses for a moment before he decides to walk over. He peers over his shoulder as Castiel unzips it. “You sure?”

Castiel shrugs. “I think so. There’s only one other left if you want to check it.” 

He frowns, but instead Dean hurries to join him on the ground and help sift through his. Somewhere in the back of his mind Castiel is pleased that, despite Dean’s apparent passive-aggressiveness towards him, his word seems to be enough for him.

It only takes seconds to realize that it’s not there. It doesn’t matter how many times he rifles around in it, it’s clear that there’s no notebook hiding in it. The small twinge of pride Castiel felt depletes. Dean groans and falls on his butt. He snatches the last bag and rifles through it on his lap but all the same, it comes up empty. 

“Well, what the hell are we supposed to do now?” It sounds more like an annoyed statement than a real question. 

Castiel shakes his head and plunges into the bag again. “I don’t know. I… there has to be something.” He placates, but he feels silly. This whole idea of his was silly. Even if they did find it, he’d only seen Alastair write in it once or twice. That doesn’t mean the book holds any dastardly deeds in it. It isn’t some magical object that they can find to make all of their problems disappear. 

But Dean isn’t dumb enough not to realize this. Dean’s still humoring the idea. So Castiel digs through the random assortment. There are snacks, a water bottle, two knives, a handgun, a few pencils and highlighters, a folder, and several random crinkled papers. He leafs through the folder, but none of it means anything to him. A few names. A list of stores. A list of supplies. A basic, hand drawn blueprint of a building. It only takes him a minute to somewhat recognize it as the camp’s and he stuffs it back.

Dean searches the smaller pockets and pulls out a map. He glances at it and almost puts it aside but he pauses. Castiel, having given up on it, looks at him. “What?”

Dean just frowns at it. “I don’t know. It’s just a wide map of the surrounding area.” He looks at it for several seconds before he scooches closer so that Cas can see too. 

There’s an overview of what Castiel assumes to be the building they’re sitting in and some of the surrounding forest. It looks like an old picture, obviously taken before the camp-members had moved in and built their own habitat outside around the building. Which means there’s very little to look at considering most of the structure is underground. A few areas are circled in blue and red on the building and on the forest in seemingly random places. 

“Does it mean anything to you?”

Dean scowls. “No.” 

Castiel sighs. This was a waste of time. “I’m sorry.” 

Dean frowns at the picture for another moment before he shakes his head and sighs tiredly, putting it back in the bag. “Nah, it’s fine. At least we tried.” 

Castiel’s stuffing the folder back in when they both freeze at the sound of the outer door opening. Voices stream in and they can hear Jess speaking louder than she probably has to, in what he assumes to be her attempt at distracting whoevers entering and warning them. 

Dean and Cas share a panicked look and Castiel tries to quickly zip the bag up but the zipper jams. He yanks on it twice but then Dean is pulling him up by the arm, dragging him towards the other door. 

Which is when, over the top of the next row of lockers, they spot the second door being pushed open. 

Castiel freezes in horror and they both share a wide-eyed stare of deer-in-headlights. Dean makes a ridiculous jerking motion, hands flapping in the air like his body is trying to sprint in three ways at once. They can’t hide between the rows of lockers with the placement of the doors. They can hear the man’s voice dismissing Jess at the door and Castiel can hear the steps of whomever had entered the second door approaching and his chest tightens, mind going blank he remains rooted to the spot.

And then he’s quite literally being yanked sideways off his feet. It takes him a second to realize that Dean’s hauling him into one of the lockers and Castiel gets elbowed hard in the stomach as Dean rushes in and tries to close the door without making a sound. 

They both stand stock still, Castiel slightly towards the back but still practically molded against Dean. Not a muscle twitches as they wait to see if they’ve been seen or heard. Honestly, at this point, it would be a little more than mortifying to be found out. The image of Alastair opening the locker to see them squeezed together; cornered into such a comically small space, makes him nauseous. 

Dean suddenly moves and he covers his own mouth with his hand. Before Castiel even has the chance to shoot him a questioning look he’s taken by surprise when Dean slams his other hand over _his_ mouth. 

He’s taken aback, and maybe would be offended, if the sudden absence of his own panting breaths weren’t now ringing in his ears. He hadn’t even realized he was breathing so loudly and he strains to hear if those outside in the room had taken notice. He watches as several shadows pass over the slits of the door and a few start speaking. He closes his eyes in relief. They hadn’t.

“Next time, we need results. This isn’t acceptable.”

Dean squeezes even closer to Castiel, though he didn’t think it was possible, trying to look out into the room. Castiel has a better advantage point but he can still barely make out more than legs and the sight of the bags slowly being picked up off the floor.

“I’m not a miracle worker. I’ve been doing everything I can.” A small tingle of anger sparks when he recognizes Alastair’s voice. 

“And it keeps blowing up in our faces.” Met. 

“Give me something else to do! Azazel, you know what all I have to offer. I’m more than this.”

“If what you have to offer isn’t what’s needed then you don’t exactly have _anything_ to offer.” Castiel is confused to hear a girl’s voice. He glances at Dean but Dean’s solely focused on what’s happening outside. The voice sounds familiar. 

“Me? And what exactly is your worth? You’re lower than _Lilith._ ” 

Several voices erupt at once until one cuts them off.

“Alastair.” The dark voice matches the first person he had heard speak and they instantly quiet. Castiel had only heard him talk once before, but he matches it as Azazel’s. “Your biggest weakness is that you can’t seem to keep that sly mouth of yours closed.”

The girl snorts as she bends down to pick up her bag and Castiel finally recognizes Ruby. He can see her toss her long brown hair over her shoulder as she ruffles through her bag. She pulls out a folded piece of paper and stands back up out of view. “That’s my next list. It shouldn’t take me as long. I could do it faster if I wasn’t always stuck with Meg.” 

“It’s necessary. We don’t know how close she is.” 

Castiel feels Dean’s calloused hand flex against his chapped mouth, and he doesn’t mean to, doesn’t even think about it, when he reflexively tries to lick his lips. As soon as he registers the taste of Dean’s palm on his tongue he immediately draws back, just as Dean jerks and turns to baulk at him. They stare at each other and without the option of being able to casually brush it off, the air between them, if there really is any, gains an odd tension. Castiel can feel a small amount of heat rise to his cheeks and the hand pressed to his mouth feels heavier. He diverts his gaze to the door. 

“You can’t keep dropping members off at half-way points. It’s against protocol.” Castiel doesn’t recognize this voice at all. It’s quieter. More subdued. Dean tilts his head, looking confused, but there’s recognition in his eyes.

“How about you keep your opinions to yourself and let us worry about protocol.” Met says. He sounds condescending. 

“It’s suspicious.”

“Everything around here is considered suspicious.” Alastair grumbles. 

Castiel chances another glance over only to find that Dean’s eyes are again trained on him. It’s not like they need to look out towards the room. They can’t see anything of importance anyways. But the longer that Dean just stares at him without removing his hand from his mouth the warmer he can feel his face getting. 

Outside, the voices argue over something that makes no sense to him.  
Inside, they keep staring at each other, only inches and Dean’s hands allowing them to keep their noses from bumping. 

Dean has this odd look on his face. His eyes glance down, and Castiel knows that he’s looking at where their chests are slightly pressed together. It’s inexplicable, the way the heat in his cheeks continues to creep down to his neck. But it’s like they are both just now, for the first time, realizing how small the locker really is. Suddenly the locker feels like it’s 50 degrees warmer and the walls feel closer and now he’s just dying for the people outside to just hurry up and _leave_. Not being able to move or say anything to defuse the awkward tension that’s between them is agonizing and neither of them can do nothing but sit there and wait it out.

“Well, our first option is gone. There’s no way to regain that ground. We’ll have to rely on a more aggressive approach.” Azazel says.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? …Is it really worth it?” The unknown voice from before asks uncertainly. 

Azazel sounds firm. “It’s the only option. They’re not going to cooperate without compensation.”

Met sighs deeply. “Do you have a plan? I’m not going to be a part of this if it ends in failure.”

Alastair sounds irate. “You can’t back out of this.” 

Azazel, “He’s right. If you weren’t certain then you shouldn’t have agreed in the first place. For now, you all keep doing your part, same as before. I’ll notify you when we need to make progress.”

“Fine with me. If we’re done here, I’ve got to get down to inventory.” Ruby doesn’t wait for a response before her steps trail off towards the second door. 

It’s only two minutes later before the others start leaving the room. The sound of the door shutting behind what they assume to be the last person, sounds deafening. They wait in the after silence for a pause of two or three long minutes, making sure the coast is clear, before Castiel quickly slaps Dean’s hand away from his mouth. They both slump against the confining walls, sighing in relief. The stiffness in his shoulders drains out of Castiel and he’s thankful when Dean right away reaches around him to unlatch the locker door. “Fucking _finally_!”

He’s getting ready to shift out of the locker when he hears Dean’s distressed voice. 

“Oh fuck.” 

And with two simple words, the tension snaps back like a rubber band. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. Nothing. It’s…” Dean rattles the mechanism on the inside of the door and growls in frustration. Castiel can feel his trepidation rising with every jostle that Dean gives it until Dean’s fist slams against it in frustration. “There’s no latch! There should be a latch. Every locker in my high school had a _goddamn_ latch.” Castiel’s air whooshes out of him when Dean’s suddenly trying to push Castiel to a side that doesn’t exist so that he can heave at the door with increasingly more powerful shoves. It’s not long before Dean’s muttering “No, no…fuck, no.” and is open-palm and shoulder slamming against the door. 

“Dean?” Castiel blanks for a second and then he’s grabbing at him, trying to get him to calm down and come to his senses. It takes a few tries and another loud distressed shout of “ _Dean!_ ” before he finally, finally stills, breathing hard, ragged pants. Dean leans forward, body twisted sideways, so that he can rest his forehead against the cool press of metal. He closes his eyes tightly. 

Castiel shakes his head in bewilderment. “Dean, are you okay?” Castiel’s panting a bit himself with the exertion, and it makes him feel horrible because it only makes the locker space seem even smaller with both of their chests expanding with air. If Dean’s having a claustrophobic-panic-attack of some kind then all of the flailing didn’t help. Because now instead of Dean standing shifted towards the front and Castiel the back, they’re both squeezed equally in the tighter middle because Dean has his other arm stiffly pressed against the back wall, like he’s somehow keeping it from closing in on them. 

Dean huffs a breath, eye’s squeezed shut, and half growls out “ _Yes_ , Cas, I’m fine.”

“You don’t _seem_ fine.” 

“ _Well I am, Okay!?_ ” He snaps, shouting. Castiel can’t help but flinch back. He wasn’t expecting it.

It only takes a brief moment before he’s apologetic, voice quieter in a reproach, “Oh, Cas, shit, m’sorry.” 

Cas nods reflexively, lips screwing into a hard line. “It’s okay.” He says passively, eyes drifting. 

Dean shakes his head and grabs Cas’ upper arm, “No-” but Cas flinches again because it’s his bad arm and Dean recoils, jerking it back. “Fuck! I just!-” He groans and his head falls back to bang loudly behind him. 

Castiel just waits, because for some odd reason he doesn’t think telling Dean that he had flinched out of a reaction-based habit and not actual pain is really going to solve anything. Instead he watches silently as two beads of sweat simultaneously roll down Dean’s forehead to his neck. 

Eventually they both get their demeanors under control, even if the air between them still feels blisteringly hot compared to what it was when they first entered. 

Dean starts again, quietly uttering towards the roof of the locker, “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m sorry.”

Cas nods before he realizes that Dean’s not looking at him. “It’s fine, Dean.” He understands. Dean has so much pent up anger and resentment. Castiel’s almost grateful for it being directed at him instead of someone else. It almost feels like a form of atonement.

Dean’s jaw twitches, agitation creeping back into his shoulders. “No, it’s not, Cas. Stop saying it is.” 

“Okay.” 

Dean rolls his eyes, glaring at the space beside Castiel’s head. He motions a hand towards the door. “When we came in here I thought that these would just be like the ones at my old high school. There’s a simple latch inside them that you just lift to get out. And well, …I guess these don’t. Maybe they’re super old, like before inside latches were an issue. I don’t know. Whatever, point is, I can’t get us out.” He’s right. Where the back of the locker doors’ lock mechanisms should be, there’s a metal box wielded into it to hold the back. There is not much to grab or move, just smooth, flat metal.

Castiel nods grimly, trying to stay positive. “That’s okay.”

Dean snorts, but his eyes seem to be darkening every time Castiel speaks. “No, it’s not.” He repeats gravelly. Castiel bites his lip. He’s fine receiving Dean’s anger, but he doesn’t wish to _cause_ him to be more irate. 

Castiel tries to act normal, taking his turn to roll his eyes, “Dean, yes. It. Is. We can just get somebody to open it from the outside-”

“Oh yeah, that’s just great.”

“It’s better than nothing at all!”

“Yeah let’s just wait and hope that one of the _few_ people we can trust here just _meanders_ their way right on in. And then hope they don’t laugh themselves to death before they can get us out. That’ll be a joy.”

“Do you want to get out or not?”

“Of course I do. But that could take hours! That could take all night!” He grits his teeth. “I should be back with Sam.”

Cas’ expression saddens, even more understanding of Dean’s upset. “…Jess knows we were in here. And she knows that we wouldn’t waste much time getting back to Sam-.”

“Fucking, _Sam._ ” Dean’s voice is pained. In those two words Castiel can hear all of the worry Dean’s holding. None of them know what’s going on inside Sam’s head. They don’t know if his behavior will change for the better or the worse. 

“-When we don’t come back to the holding room, she’ll probably look for us. It shouldn’t take her that long to realize we may still be in here.” Castiel comments smartly. 

Dean mutters, wetting his lips as another bead of sweat rolls down his neck. “I need to get out of here _now._ ” Castiel can similarly feel the back of his shirt and the sides of his temple becoming damp. 

Castiel sucks in a long breath, assessing Dean’s face, who still won’t look back at him. “Dean… it’s alright if you’re feeling a bit claustrophobic, but-”

“I am _not_ claustrophobic.”

Castiel scowls, his patience with him starting to damper. His voice carries the tension he’d been trying so hard to keep away. “Well, obviously, you are. It’s completely fine and natural to have mild panic attacks if-“

“I am _not panicking._ ” Dean’s voice rises in a scandalized pitch.

Castiel huffs in clear frustration. “Honestly, Dean!”

“I just need to get out of here, okay?!” He’s nearly shouting again. His voice echoes in the small space. He finally looks over, only to glare angrily into Castiel’s eyes, but Cas isn’t backing down this time. He’s been taking Dean’s internalization with stride. Whenever it seeps through, Castiel has been patiently taking the brunt of it. Which he’s _fine_ with. Even if it hurts. He deserves it. He’s the reason it’s there in the first place.

But what he can’t take anymore is Dean going back and forth between being angry and pretending he’s not angry. He wishes the other would hurry up and figure out for himself where his emotions lay so Castiel didn’t feel like he was being tugged around by them. And there’s still a small voice in the back of his head wondering if there’s any chance that the other will eventually allow Castiel to try to be his friend again. Or if Dean now despises him as much as he fears. He’s getting mixed signals and neither of them will be able to figure it out until Dean works through his uncertainty.

So instead of acquiescing once again, he instead shuffles forward the two inches he can manage and stands on his tiptoes to stand eye-to-eye and throw Deans intimidation back at him. 

“You listen here, Dean Winchester. I am not going to just sit here and waste _both of our time_ while you-” Castiel was fully planning on unleashing one of his more terrifying tirades for Dean being so hard headed and uncooperative. He really was prepared to use his reserved arsenal of lecturing; the full name, the harsh, cold take-no-prisoners tone that he had learned from Anna when he had gotten on her bad side. He was prepared with all of it, when his bubble of irritation was suddenly figuratively _and_ physically popped with a dull stabbing in his hip bone. 

He glances down even as Dean makes a weird begging noise in the back of his throat “Cas, wait-” 

“Dean, are you _fucking hard?!_ ” He hisses shrilly, voice cracking in the most undignified way that his throat can bodily manage. Dean shoots forward and slams his hand back over his mouth as if someone else could possibly overhear him.

“Shut up!” He hisses back through his teeth and now, Castiel can see Dean sporting a blush that easily trumps the one he wore earlier. 

Castiel knocks Deans’ hand away, spluttering. Of all the things he had suspected Dean to be freaking out over, he was definitely not expecting this.

Dean’s trying so hard not to look embarrassed. “It’s hot in here okay!?” Dean turns his chin away, and with wide eyes looks anywhere but at Castiel. “It’s not that big of a deal, I just need some fresh air.” 

“Fresh air.” Castiel repeats with a flat look. “You have a full-fledged _erection_ sitting against my leg.” Dean’s pink cheeks turn fire-engine red.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He brings a hand up to hold over his eyes. “Don’t _say_ that. Yes, I need some air, you’re contaminating all of mine!” 

“I’m- what?” 

“You!- You’re!- “ He stammers and then blurts out, “You smell too damn sweet!” At Castiel’s taken aback look, Dean tries to back track defensively, “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just-just a reaction. I can’t smell anything in here except-” He breaks off floundering and motioning with his hands towards him, “Except you! It’s fucking potent in here, okay?”

Castiel’s cheeks start to warm again and he tilts his head down, causing a sweat drop to roll down the bridge of his nose. He gulps deeply because now that Dean mentions it, Castiel is suddenly dizzily aware of what the other is talking about. He can smell Dean. He doesn’t know how on earth he hadn’t realized it before, because now Dean is _the only thing_ he can smell. 

His head almost swims with it. He knows that what he scents is Alpha pheromones. But unlike every time before, his heart doesn’t start to race because he’s wary. It starts to pound because it’s familiar. It’s familiar, and comforting, and _pleasant_. His face warms even more because he knows that it’s pleasant because his body is equating it to _Dean_. Woods and leather and security and gunpowder and assurance. It’s prompting him to remember the scent that filled his head two nights before on the jeep’s hood. He gasps lightly and tries to rear back away from it, but there’s no space to do so.

“See?” Dean looks irritatingly self-assured and smug. But not the kind of smug that usually makes him look charming. It’s more of one that’s meant to be provoking, like he’s glad at finally getting underneath Castiel’s skin. 

Castiel glowers at the back wall, annoyed that Dean had. He can feel his nervous heartbeat in his ears, the way his blood is starting to race through his veins and his face was no doubt darkening with every passing second. Now he understood Dean’s blind panic for trying to knock the door down. The air being passed back and forth between them is only getting more and more stifling and heavy with mixing scents and Castiel’s body now feels like a furnace. “I was fine until you decided to ‘get hard’ and felt it necessary to say something.” There’s a small buzzing in his head.

Dean scowls and looks away, quietly grumbling, “Don’t give me that. You started it.” 

“How could I _possibly_ have started it? You were the one who was all worked up-”

“Yeah. Well. Look who’s all worked up now!” But Dean doesn’t sound that confident because now nothing is better. Actually it’s worse than it was before. 

He’s trying to resolutely ignore the fact that the _Alpha_ pressed so close to him has a valid point. He can feel blood rushing to exactly where he doesn’t want it to be. Dean’s attitude morphs into one a bit more somber. When he speaks, his voice is slightly raspy, but his tone is serious. 

“Maybe we should try to… to move back to the corners.” 

Castiel mutely nods. He knows it won’t really change the situation, but pretending it will may help with the tautness between them. They awkwardly start to shift, trying to maneuver themselves away from each other. Dean hisses when Castiel accidently brushes his arm against the outside of his pants and Dean’s hands are suddenly clamped onto his shoulders, using them as an anchor as he stills and clenches his eyes shut. 

Castiel swallows, frozen as he waits for Dean to gather himself. It takes him a minute, but eventually his eyes open and he pulls away the few inches he can manage. 

They stand rigid, backs pressed as close to the walls as they can get. Every time Castiel tries to breathe now his chest tightens almost painfully and his hands clench at the sides of his white pants so that they don’t shake. 

Dean’s gaze is fixated on him, intent, with a buried desperation that barely peaks through his blank face. Castiel would be lying to himself if he said that he probably didn’t look so similar. 

 

He knows this is the worst moment to do so, but he feels helpless as his mind again drifts to two nights ago. To the sight of Dean leaning towards him, eyes closing softly. To the feel of warm lips pressed against his. To the foreign buzzing in his ears and the dizzy floating sensation in his head that had drowned out all of his problems. 

He blinks and brings his eyes up from Dean’s lips. He can see the way Dean’s eyes widen, how his breath hitches. He’s probably well aware of what’s running through Castiel’s mind. 

 

He had thoroughly enjoyed that night. Almost embarrassingly so. He’ll probably never admit that it was his first kiss since he was thirteen, but he can’t really bring himself to care because he doesn’t remember the last time he had felt so worry-free and content. It’s that thought that slows his erratic mind. Makes them narrow in on that last one. Even if it was only momentarily. His brain had gone blessedly blank. 

His eyes roam over Dean’s face. Takes in the exhausted lines around his eyes, the crinkle in his forehead that hasn’t disappeared since yesterday.

Then he takes in the way Dean sucks in air nearly double of what’s considered normal. The sternum of his shirt is wet with sweat. How those green eyes are dark and somehow bright at the same time. How the way they stay solely focused on him causes a fluttering vibration in his chest. 

His heartbeat pounds in his ears. He doesn’t know if his thoughts are out of line. Can’t tell if they’re wrong or right. They feel right. He tries not to swallow. The words tumble from his lips whether he wants them to or not. All he can do is try to keep his voice steady. “Do you regret it?”

“What?” Dean’s voice croaks. 

This time he can’t help it. He swallows and wets his suddenly too-dry lips. He leans forward an inch. Instead of clarifying, he repeats, “Do you regret it?” 

Dean has this dazed look to his eye and despite the dimmed lighting; Castiel can almost clearly see how blown his pupils are. He wonders if his are too.

Dean’s voice is a hoarse whisper. “No.”

The smallest of shivers ghosts over him, but otherwise he stands solid. Confident and assured. “I don’t either.”

“It …it was in the moment. It didn’t mean anything.” He says, almost like a last-minute warning.

Castiel doesn’t hesitate. “Good.” He steps forward another inch, their noses nearly touching. It’s a challenge. A dare.

They’re motionless for a long unyielding moment, exchanging the same air, watching every flicker of thought that passes behind each other’s eyes. And then, the pin drops, and Dean’s mouth is crashing into his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason after writing it, (though it's the first time I've written anything porny) the next part felt like pure indulgence. So i'm posting it as its own chapter. I don't think many people would, but if anyone wants to skip over sexy times for personal reasons, just skip over the next chapter and you won't miss anything. Next part will be up tomorrow :)


	23. Tropes Exist For A Reason

There’s no more hesitation. No holding back. Castiel’s groan nearly gets lost in Dean’s, no pause as their bodies finally cement themselves together and the air in his lungs evaporates at the _wave_ of physical relief that rolls through him. Dean’s fist clenches in his hair, forcing his head to tilt back and Castiel lets him, grabbing at his bicep with one hand and the other grasping at the side of his neck, nails accidentally raking down and it’s like they’re in a competition to see who can deepen it faster. 

If the kiss from before had left an impression on Castiel, then this one is trying to leave a solid imprinted dent as his mind goes blank with sensation. 

It’s nothing like before. It’s faster, more urgent. Harsher. It’s all open mouths laced with tongues and teeth. It’s pure physical need and Castiel gratefully gasps for air when Dean pulls his head back further to press what would be more considered a bite than a kiss to the side of his neck, teeth raking down almost as hard as his nails had. 

He groans, eyelids fluttering and Dean lets go of his hair in favor of gripping his hips, shoving him harder against the metal wall behind him as if he wasn’t already against it. He tries to yank Dean closer though Dean has already pressed his body tight against his, like if they try hard enough their bodies will just mold together. Dean’s scent is overwhelming, like nothing he’s ever experienced before. He wants to bathe in it, fill his lungs with it, though it’s so cloying that it makes it difficult for him to expand his chest. 

Dean slots his right leg between his and uses his grip to roughly roll Cas’ hips forward. They both have to suddenly break away from the kiss, unreserved groans rushing out at the pressure. In the quiet second that passes after, they share a glance. Castiel nods. It goes without saying. They both need to try to be quieter. They don’t need to be found out. 

Dean’s forehead is pressed to his cheek, sweaty and ridiculously warm, his panting breath rolling across his chin. It’s only seconds before Castiel is shaking his head ‘no’, can’t stand the pause. He lifts the leg not trapped between Dean’s higher up and hooks it around the alpha’s, using it as leverage, forcing him closer. He tugs at Dean’s hips, rolling his own forward in a repetitive copy of before. Dean enthusiastically reciprocates. It’s not long before his right hand is gripping at Dean’s ass, pulling him in with the rhythm and Dean’s hissing out soft curses of approval. 

 

Hands roam until they get to the point where they’ve given up on kissing. It just doesn’t work anymore. Castiel’s face is tilted back towards the ceiling, letting out little huffs of air as his hands slide under Dean’s shirt, running up and down the expanse of warm skin. Dean’s mouthing at his neck, just under his chin, not doing much more than panting damp, hot air across the skin as they move, causing small shivers to run up his spine. 

They’re mindlessly rutting up against each other and Castiel doesn’t think he could care less. He doesn’t care when Dean’s hands sit low on his back and hesitantly dip under the hem of the cotton pants. Doesn’t care when after a moment, they delve in and Dean grabs the lobes of his ass and pulls him forward hard enough that they both have to grit their teeth and their hips stutter. He can’t find it in himself to care when an odd, high, needy noise works it’s way out of his throat. _Especially_ doesn’t care, when it results in Dean growling something unintelligible before he lets go of Cas to struggle in squeezing his hands between their bodies, hitting his elbow on the back wall in the process. Castiel’s just about to angrily snap at him for obstructing their rhythm when Dean finally manages to undo the button to his jeans. He can physically see the relief in the others’ face as he pulls his pants and underwear down low on his hips, freeing himself from the constraints. 

Castiel only has a short moment to look down, dazed, before Dean’s hands are back at the hem of his pants. He pauses for the smallest moment, giving Cas the chance to object, before he’s shoving Castiel’s down too. Cas still has one leg wrapped around Dean’s, and Dean shifts so that instead of rutting up against each other’s thighs, their hips are equally aligned. When they press together this time, Castiel’s breath gets caught in his throat. It feels more slick, more visceral. 

Castiel’s cheeks tint a shade pinker and he closes his eyes, trying to concentrate on how good this feels instead of the dawning realization that this is the first time someone has touched him this way. Dean has a hand on his ass again, gently squeezing, and he bites his lip, focusing on the feeling. When he feels Dean’s free leg pressing against the inside of his, making his legs spread wider in the small space they can afford, he opens his eyes again and swallows when he sees Dean with his fingers in his mouth, getting them wet. 

And then his head is actually in pain when he bangs it against the wall behind him, hissing in surprised pleasure as Dean quickly works his hand over them without preamble. Dean is practically holding half of Castiel’s weight, but it’s not really an issue with the support of the locker’s small walls being there to press against for purchase. 

Cas hears Dean huff a short, breathy chuckle at him that turns into a quiet moan half way through. “ _Oh, fuck._ ” Dean rasps almost inaudibly against his shoulder and Castiel feels a flash of heat sizzle underneath his skin. Dean lifts his head and Castiel meets him again in a lazy, heavy imitation of a kiss. Only moments pass before they have to separate again, a sliver of space between their lips as they pant breathlessly into each other. His hand picks up speed and Castiel goes from running his hands under the other’s shirt to gripping his sides hard enough to bruise. His hips jerk forward of their own accord and that needy, gasping noise comes back. He tries to swallow it down but all it does is turn it into a high, needy, broken _moan_. Dean’s hand is suddenly clasped tight over his mouth again, his other working over them even faster and Castiel only lasts seconds before his entire body tenses, coiling tight, and his fingers dig grooves into Dean’s skin. Dean’s eyes are on him, transfixed when his hips falter and Dean’s palm absorbs the drawn-out, broken cry, as well as the long, muffled, broken gasps that follow a moment later. 

Castiel’s body feels stiff and limp at the same time, his breathing erratic and his head still spinning. He swallows down another gulp of air and watches, engrossed, as Dean continues without pause. He observes the fluid movement, the way his wrist twists just slightly with every pull. And then he notices the oddly swollen base of his dick, the look of it foreign to him, but he’s still so dazed he can’t seem to muster up much more feeling about it than a slight curiousness.

Dean removes the hand that had been covering his mouth and wraps it back around Castiel’s body. He grasps at his back so tightly Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if his shirt ripped, and continues to quickly pump his other hand. Castiel keeps his tight hold on Dean’s sides, keeps him pressed up close in a wordless encouragement. Not a minute later, Dean’s breath hitches and Cas’ heart stutters. Dean quickly presses his face to the crook of his shoulder and, through gritted teeth; he exhales a long, desperate groan of release. 

Castiel wraps a comforting arm across Dean’s neck, tucking his head in closer against his sweaty skin, and gives him time to come back to his senses. They both lean against each other for a while, the walls keeping them upright as their panting breath slowly dies down. 

 

The mindlessly blissful moment can only last for so long however and, eventually, they have to straighten themselves out. Have to shift apart and assess the damage. 

The languid feeling begins to slowly seep away as they shuffle, bodies stumbling against each other as they pull up their pants. Both awkwardly spend a moment trying to figure out how to wipe the clear evidence of what they had just done off of themselves. All they can really manage is to try and use the inside of their shirts to rub it off the outside of their pants and stomachs, even if it feels really gross to do so.

 

Only several minutes later they’ve stilled and Castiel can see the same confusing, stunned bafflement in Dean’s expression that he’s feeling inside. He…He doesn’t really know where that came from. He knows where the _want_ came from. But in the aftermath, he doesn’t know how it had gotten so intense, or why it had become so, so quickly. Or why they had actually acted on it. It was …unsettling, really. 

…Castiel’s trying very hard not to remember the fact that Dean had reacted to it first… but Castiel’s the one who had actually _acted_ on the impulse. Had instigated it. What would have happened if he hadn’t? He tries to push the entire train of thought away. They can’t change what had just happened. 

…And if he’s honest, Castiel doesn’t think he would really want to. 

He glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye, who appears to be stuck between wanting to avoid Castiel’s gaze at all costs and not wanting Castiel to _know_ that he’s trying to do so. Which both are impossible, considering that they’re still only a few inches further apart then when they were… then before. 

Castiel takes a breath and steels himself for whatever this could mean after they were able to get out of the locker. Which is something they both, more so Dean, are silently horrified over the idea of. But it’s inevitable, so neither of them bother commenting on it. 

Dean, predictably, is the first one to break the silence.

“So, uh… that was… interesting.” 

Castiel bites the inside of his cheek and nods.

Dean brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck but after a second, grimaces at his hand and lets it fall. He clears his throat. “I haven’t done something like that since high school.”

Castiel presses his lips together and looks at the opposite wall, not sure what to say back.

A minute passes by and he’s not sure why Dean thinks to say, “You know, I wouldn’t normally admit this to anybody, but. Um. Well, it’s kind’a been a while… since, uh, you know. With somebody.” 

Castiel’s eyebrows draw together into a confused furrow and he glances up. Dean’s trying to appear overtly casual. Indifferent. His posture is slouched and his hands are in his pockets, but his shoulders are tight and he’s giving Castiel this side-eyed, curious stare. 

Castiel just blinks and murmurs, “Yeah…me too.” 

“Maybe…maybe that’s why we got all worked up?” Dean asks quietly but his tone says that he doesn’t believe it. 

“Possibly.” 

Though Castiel absolutely doesn’t want it to, the space between them lapses back into an awkward silence. He just doesn’t know what to say, and by the way Dean shifts back and forth on his feet, Castiel doesn’t think he does either. 

They both take in a deep breath, and ready themselves to wait out the time it will take before someone finds them. 

 

Which comes as both a reprieve and a distress when only 10 minutes later they hear the quiet creak of the first door opening. It’s only a hesitant push at first before it opens wider. A minute later, they’re both pressed closer to the slits of the door, trying to see who it is that’s entered. 

“…Dean? Cas?” Jess questions in a whisper. 

“Thank god.” Dean’s shoulders slump in relief. Though he’s still grimacing, unhappy with what has to happen.

“Jess, we’re stuck in a locker. Can you let us out?” Castiel asks politely for him, trying to keep the embarrassment from his face. 

“Um, yeah. Of course.” She sounds hesitant. She walks over and it takes two tries before she finds the right one. Castiel and Dean stumble out the second the latch undoes. 

They stand there for a moment, her staring at them and vice versa. She has a rosy blush to her cheeks and her eyes keep sliding off to the side. She swallows and off-handedly says, “So? Did you find what you were looking for?”

Castiel is about to answer when Dean groans. 

“When?”

Castiel’s forehead crinkles, confused. Dean looks miserable and appalled. He looks back to her and her blush has doubled. 

“Like …twenty minutes ago.” She clasps her hands behind her, embarrassed. “I thought I’d maybe… give you some more …time.” 

Castiel understands. And he’s mortified. She’d found them. Earlier. They must have just not heard her. Because. 

Dean makes a pained sound. A long moment passes and then he abruptly turns and makes a silent beeline for the door. 

“Dean…” Castiel calls but he pays him no attention. The door swings open and slams shut. 

Castiel grimaces and looks to Jess for help. She shrugs helplessly. 

“I’m sorry. There’s no way I could’ve …not known. Even if I hadn’t have heard… I can smell you two. Together.” They both wince at the words. They only make him feel more humiliated and he’s almost happy Dean has already escaped the room. 

They stand there uncomfortably for a moment and then, without a word, they turn to trail after Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hate to do this after uh, this chapter, (but hey at least it's not on a cliff hanger!) but I just started a condensed & hard nursing program, so who knows how often I can update.


	24. An evasive interlude

Castiel and Jess are side by side, both silently trying not to directly address the other. He’s been too preoccupied with dutifully avoiding her gaze to check if she looks anywhere as uncomfortable as he feels. 

The walk is quiet and slow, both hoping to give Dean a few extra minutes alone before they get there. Castiel’s nervous about Dean’s reaction, but he can’t find that he’s entirely surprised by it. A little hurt, maybe. Possibly even jilted, if you stretch for it. As for himself, he’s just focusing very hard on staying calm, and trying not to let this thoughts race away from him.

They round the next corner and Castiel finds his feet abruptly stuck to the ground. Halfway up the hall stands Alastair, Azazel, and a tall man he hasn’t met before. As if they could sense him, they all turn as a unit and he tries to keep his posture relaxed as they stare at him. Of course he would run into them now. His life has dissolved into one long series of relentless disasters. So why wouldn’t he?

“Just act normal and don’t stop walking.” Jess whispers at his side and he imperceptibly nods. And so they walk. Nobody seems surprised to see him and he’s disappointed that they’ve already been told of his return. He has to commend himself for keeping his face lax even as Alastair half sneers at him. Or, at least, what he imagines to be a sneer. It’s a little hard to tell with how split his lips are. 

The tall one shakes his head before he turns and leaves. Lowly Castiel asks, “Who is he?”

“That’s Ezekiel. He joined us a few weeks ago. He’s a sweet guy. Really polite.” 

Castiel can’t find himself to really believe that if he’s spending his time with the likes of Alastair. 

Their pace is faster and yet it feels like they move twice as slow as before as they approach. Seeing Alastair’s battered face helps though and sends a spark of satisfied smugness through him. He could try hiding his smirk. But he doesn’t.

As they pass by, Castiel can hear someone sniffing the air. The hair on the back of his neck rises. He doesn’t mean to, but he glances back over his shoulder. Alastair’s antagonizing look has dropped into a blank one. Azazel leans over and mutters something in his ear and the beta nods. 

The action makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to know what they can smell on him. 

It’s ten times easier to breath once they reach the next corner. 

“I’ve always managed to get around it. But I don’t think I can really ignore it any more. They make me uneasy.” Jess mumbles. 

“Do you… do you believe me about what happened the other night?”

Jess chews on the inside of her cheek and nods. “I try not to make assumptions when there’s no proof of whose right or wrong. But when it comes down to it, I have to go with you. I think anyone who’s talked to you for more than ten minutes would find it hard to believe that you’d start a fight without a good reason. And I’d like to think that Dean has enough self-control not to either.” 

“I didn’t start it, I-” He forces himself to stop and restart. “Thankyou.” After a few seconds, he adds, “…Sam and Dean want to me to stay. Here. Or at least they wanted me to before… it happened. I’m not so sure anymore.” He doesn’t have to clarify. 

“For some odd reason, I don’t think Dean’s all that angry with you.” Her smile is wry. Then, curiously, “Why would they change their minds now?” 

He winces. She doesn’t know how it had all started. But he doesn’t feel like he deserves to keep it hidden. “I’m… I’m the one who crashed the jeep. Which gave the Croatoans the chance to attack us.” It’s hard, but he forces himself to watch her reaction. 

“Oh.” Her shoulders stiffen, eyes wide. She bites at her lip and shakily says. “Well, …it was an accident right?” She probably doesn’t mean to, but it ends up sounding like an honest question, not a rhetorical one. His chest goes a little cold inside but he nods slowly.

“Then …I think it’ll be okay. Hopefully.” Their steps have slowed. She tries for a pleasant demeanor again. “So, you and Dean?”

Cas blanches a little. “No.” She cocks her head. “Well, besides …that. Well, that and- no. No, it’s not like that.”

She watches him for a long moment before she shrugs. “Okay.” She drops it easily and he finds himself thinking that he rather likes her. They turn another corner and Castiel recognizes this one. The holding room is up ahead. Jess seems to read his hesitation. “I’m sure they’re watching Sam just fine. Maybe you should go take a shower? Been a little while, hasn’t it?”

He winces, but is glad for the excuse to prolong the inevitable. 

They turn and walk a different way. “I don’t have any other clothes.” He did at some point. A fairly new pair that would have been more fresh than the ones he wears now. But those had gone ‘mysteriously’ missing. 

“We’ll figure something out.”

He smiles at her. 

They part ways when he reaches the showers. Someone exits a stall just as he enters. He rummages in the sink cabinet for his supplies as they wash their hands and leave. It’s mid-morning. Nothing’s keeping someone from walking in this time. He’s uncomfortable, but he shakes it off. He has to compromise on some things, doesn’t he? 

 

-.-.-

 

It feels wrong. But he can’t make himself do more than briefly glance into the holding room, just long enough to see that Sam is still there, that he’s still breathing, before ducking his head down and walking on. His head is still too fuzzy and confused. Dean feels like his breath is coming a little too short and he nearly jogs down the hall. He shouldn’t be leaving. He should be at Sam’s side. Whether he wants him there or not. 

But instead he finds himself in his own bedroom. His hands stay pressed to the closed door behind him, unwilling to move. 

He just… needs a minute. 

His brain feels scrambled. It’s more welcoming then the blinding despair he’d had to sit through last night. But now. Now he’s stuck wondering what’s wrong with him. And what’s wrong with Cas. On top of still worrying about what the hell is wrong with Sam. 

This has been the most confusing week of his life. Which is saying something.

His thoughts are tripping over themselves, stuck reviewing the past hour in his head on repeat like a broken movie-reel. Thinking about his actions makes his throat go dry even as his stomach warms. 

In the aftermath, the memory of it feels like a big hazy bundle of nerves and emotions. It reminds him of waking up the morning after a night’s bender, where you can recall what you did, can recall how it made you feel, but at the same time it doesn’t sit clearly in your head. It’s blurry around the edges and distant.

He’d found Castiel attractive for awhile now, sure. The other night was proof enough for him. But… what had happened in the locker room, the entire situation had flipped so fast. And it makes him uncomfortable. Makes his stomach sort of drop because he knows, he _knows,_ that what they did wasn’t just acting impulsively on a thought, like when they had kissed before. This was… it was the genetics. It had to be. 

It had been the clogging smell of Omega. He’d never thought he’d relate to the old stories. The old warnings. But it was almost just like they had said. Castiel’s scent had cut through his brain like it was made of butter until nothing was left behind except _want_. It was the same refreshing and crisp scent that he’d always carried, but this time it was saturated with a honeyed tone. Made his mouth water and his stomach warm. Eventually made him ache when he didn’t try to get closer to it. Made him ache when he forced himself to stay rigid and still instead.

All process of thought had been thrown out the window and it had felt so damn relieving to do so. It’d felt like he’d handed over the reins of his body to someone else. He feels guilty. He’s not real sure why. Maybe for not having some form of damn self-control. Maybe for enjoying the fact that he hadn’t. 

The only saving grace is that he wasn't the only one to be effected. Cas had switched so fast from calm and collected to invasively forward that Dean had been side-swiped. 

But then again, maybe it wasn’t a grace. How long before the other characteristics told of before started showing up. He has never smelled anything like what he had on Castiel today. The old omegas had nothing on it. It was something foreign and new and, though he’s wary to admit it, addicting. 

He sighs. _‘Come on you coward, you can’t hide away in here forever.’_ He shakes his head, willing it all to fade away. Another few minutes and he sucks up the courage. Forces his feet to move him outside. He looks down the hall, towards the direction of the holding room. 

“I need a shower.” He mutters under his breath, turning the opposite direction instead. 

And when Jess quite literally runs into him and warns that Castiel is thinking one step ahead of him, he abruptly turns around, resigned, and heads back the other way. 

_Coward._

 

-.-.-

 

Bobby’s back. And Ellen’s joined him. He’s reclining in his folded up chair, book in hand with his feet propped up and crossed on the mattress. Ellen’s sitting on the bed and to Dean’s complete and utter shock- Sam’s sitting up against the wall with his hands in his lap and distinctly _not tied_. The sight both relieves and distresses him. 

Seeing Sam tied down like an animal had made his stomach churn. But at the same time, Sam’s smart. And quick. And though Dean would be loath to admit it, he’s stronger than Dean. If something _is_ wrong with him, and he was desperate enough… well, where would they be then?

It doesn’t take long for them to notice him. Ellen smiles and he weakly returns it. Bobby sets his book down, standing up with a groan. He cocks his head towards the outside hall and Dean lets himself be pulled aside with a raised eyebrow.

"How's he doing?" He asks without pause.

Bobby shrugs. "A lil' snappy. But at least he's not convulsing like a possessed man anymore."

Dean doesn’t even try to hide his bitter, “Yeah…guess that’s something.” 

Bobby frowns, glancing at the door. "I don't know if that means Castiel's right about him resisting the virus, but I can't think of any other explanation." Dean grimaces. He likes the optimistic idea of Sam somehow being immune to the virus. But the likelihood of it, of possibly being the _only_ damn person unsusceptible to it so far on this hellhole of a planet…well, they just don’t get that kind of luck. He has his doubts. But he also has a sort of desperate, blind hope. 

“To be honest, I couldn’t give two shits as long as he ends up being okay.”

Bobby gives him a fond smile. “Ain’t that the truth. So, listen, me and Ellen have talked it over. And we figure we might as well let him be untied.”

“Kinda’ figured that out.”

“Well, we can’t keep him shackled up forever, Dean.”

Outraged disbelief nearly rocks him off his feet. “I don’t want-” 

“Boy, you know I didn’t mean it that way.” Bobby cuts him off with a growl. 

Dean forces himself to take a deep breath. He knows that Bobby would never mean that, but the insinuation of it makes his blood boil. 

When he opens his eyes, Bobby raises an eyebrow. “You good?” He runs a hand over his face and nods. “Good.” 

The conversation seems to be over, despite the deep frown that’s pulling deeper and deeper at Bobby’s face the longer he stares at him. Dean stands there waiting for a long moment, shifting, but when Bobby says nothing, he turns towards the room. Bobby grabs his arm before he can take two steps.

“And Dean?” When he looks back, Bobby has this concerned, wary expression focused on him. 

“Yeah?”

“I hope you know what you’re getting into.” Dean blinks. He tilts his head, confused.

Nonplussed, Bobby’s eyes purposefully glance over his frame with a knowing look. Slowly, apprehension trickles in until he suddenly can’t meet the older man’s gaze. 

He huffs and crosses his arms. “I’m not getting into anything.” All he receives is an unimpressed frown.

Shuffling awkwardly, he wonders exactly what Bobby thinks he knows. Dean hasn’t looked in a mirror since he left the locker room. Does he look like he spent half the morning rutting up against another guy? He hopes not. But at least then the question of _who_ could remain unanswered. But if he could _smell_ Cas on him…

He doesn’t appreciate the odd way his stomach flutters. 

Bobby mutters something under his breath and walks to the doorway with a shake of his head. Then, “You just gunna’ stand there all day or are you coming in?”

He shakes out his shoulders, pushing the anxiety and stress to the back of his mind.

Sam gives him a tight smile when he enters and Dean tries to mimic it. He walks over and now that he’s watching for it, he can see the moment that they smell it, even though they both try to mask their bewildered looks quickly. That answers his question. Dean reminds himself that he’s not a self-conscious person and plops down next to Ellen. If only he’d gotten to the showers first.

Ellen only hesitates for a second before she gives him a comforting pat on the knee and feigns ignorance. “We decided it’s best to rest in here for just a few more hours, make sure Sam here stays feeling well. Then, who knows? Maybe everything can start getting back to normal.” Dean snorts. _Normal._

She gives a wistful smile, “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Sam continues to say nothing, opting to just stare down at his hands through the bangs of his hair. Dean doesn’t stress over it though. He’s thankful enough that he’s there, and grateful for his pseudo family’s worry for him. With the four of them cozied up in the same room, for once with no business or squabbles being thrown amongst them, he feels his gut slightly untwist from the anxious coil it’d wrapped up in. It’s an old familiarity that he hadn’t realized he had missed.

His shoulders relax and the room falls into a comfortable silence. It only takes Dean about ten minutes before he finally admits to himself that it doesn’t seem to matter how hard he tries not to; his thoughts just keep circling back to Cas. He glances around the room with a sigh and lets himself wonder about where he is.


End file.
